


Just a Puppet on a Lonely String

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bottom Jensen, But it won't be entirely dark and glum either, Coercion, M/M, Not Happy, Not a Love Story, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-01-15 22:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1321804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen was of royal blood, a successor to the throne. But then the Ackles kingdom fell and now he’s naked and in chains, standing on a stage to be auctioned off at the slave market, and Jared, the warrior responsible for Jensen’s fall, is very, very interested. (Written in response to a prompt at <b>letskinkjensen</b> on LJ.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt was: When the Ackles kingdom falls, most of the family members get killed. There are a few though, the really pretty ones, who get sold on the slave market. Bound in chains, Jensen gets sold to the highest bidder, and everyone wants a piece of that princely ass. 
> 
> Title taken from the Coldplay song _Viva la Vida_.

The early afternoon sun is already beating down on the men and women gathered at the square in front of the wooden stage full of new slaves, but where Jared and other prominent persons sit in their cushioned chairs under a large sunshade, the air is still pleasantly cool and refreshing.

Jared holds out one hand and a cup of wine is immediately placed into it. He takes a sip, humming in appreciation at the taste, and shifts in his seat, ready to watch the show that’s taking place in the Empire’s capital city today.

The seven-day celebration of the glorious victory over the Ackles kingdom ended yesterday and while Jared certainly enjoyed that, especially since he is one of the most valued and esteemed warriors of the entire war campaign and it was to a large extent thanks to him and his men that the Ackles were defeated, he's been looking forward to this day even more.

On this day, the finest men and women of the Ackles kingdom who were captured during the war will be sold as slaves at the City’s most prestigious slave market.

Most members of the Ackles family were killed during the incursion, but two of their finest specimens were left alive, too pretty to be wasted like that. And now, as the short and stocky auctioneer commences the auction, those two fine specimens are ushered onto the stage among the other slaves.

The first surviving Ackles is Mackenzie, a sweet blonde thing, blushing at the jeers and catcalls that come from the audience ogling her beautiful, soft, feminine body. And then there’s Jensen, her older brother, who is somehow managing to look royal and distinguished even though he’s just as exposed as his sister is, restrained by heavy iron manacles and completely naked otherwise. He makes no move to try and cover himself from the prying eyes – not that he has to, with such an amazing body. His head is held high, his back straight as he immediately moves to stand in front of his sister in an attempt to protect her from at least some of the attention by drawing that attention to himself.

See, it doesn’t really happen very often that Jared takes a liking to a man – he usually prefers to find his pleasure in a woman’s rounded, full softness – but there is something about Jensen that awakens a deep, burning hunger inside Jared and he feels himself stir and harden in his leather pants. Maybe it’s the plump fullness of Jensen’s perfectly shaped lips, maybe it’s the defiant hatred burning in his beautiful large green eyes, or maybe it’s the strength of his tall, well-muscled body. Whatever the reason, Jared wants to have it all. And what Jared wants, he always gets.

“That one’s mine,” he whispers, leaning towards Jeff Morgan, the man who owns the slave market.

Jeff nods, not daring to disobey the wishes of one of the country’s most proficient, valued warriors and noblemen, and gets up, intending to take Jensen off the offer list but Jared halts his progress by wrapping one hand around Jeff’s wrist and drags him back down into his seat. “Leave him where he is. I want him to sweat and fear before I take him.”

“As you wish.”

The auction goes on, the auctioneer pointing out the assets of his slaves, putting them on display one at a time. They’re all captives, mostly nobles from the Ackles court, huddling and cowering, eyes downcast in fear and cheeks burning in embarrassment. The two Ackles come last; they’re the icing on the cake after all. The auctioneer starts with Mackenzie, dragging her forward roughly and making her stumble. But her brother is right by her side to catch her before she falls, squeezing her hand comfortingly before he’s jerked back by his chains held by one of the guards. Mackenzie throws a worried glance over her pale shoulder before turning back to look at the crowd that’s ogling her, withering them with the same defiant, contemptuous look that her brother wears. They’re the wild ones, these two.

The auctioneer is full of praise on Mackenzie’s beauty, pointing out how delicate and soft and unspoiled and innocent she is, fresh meat. When the bidding starts, dozens of hands are raised. The worry in Jensen’s face grows exponentially at that and he starts struggling against his bonds, managing to slip free from the grip of the guard who was holding his chains. What he does next surprises everyone though – he doesn’t attempt to escape, instead he moves quickly so he’s again standing in front of his sister, at the very front of the stage, obscuring her from the audience’s view. “I’m better than her,” he says loudly, his strong, confident voice carrying across the crowd, showing that he’s well used to addressing great masses of people. “I’ll last longer. I’m stronger, not as easy to break. Much more fun to play with.”

Dumbfounded and utterly fascinated by this turn of events, Jared can only sit in his chair and watch as Jensen stands there on the platform, challenging and commanding, imposing and majestic, those serious green eyes travelling over the faces of the crowd. If Jensen wanted to make an impression, he doubtlessly succeeded now.

“Five hundred!” A male voice from the midst of the crowd comes, immediately followed by another one, female this time: “One thousand!” “Fifteen hundred!” “Three thousand!” The bids go up fast and in the seat next to Jared, Jeff shifts uncomfortably because by his promise to give Jensen to Jared, he’s losing a lot of money here. But he’ll keep his word; a merchant of his caliber and reputation has to.

Jared lets the bidding go on for a while longer, enjoying the tense, nervous expression that Jensen can’t hide completely even though he apparently tries, calming himself down by taking deep, slow breaths that make his muscled chest rise and fall, sunbeams playing with his smooth, oiled skin.

“I’m taking him,” Jared says finally and the crowd falls silent immediately. Across the distance that separates them, his and Jensen’s eyes lock and the air between them sizzles as two strong-willed, stubborn minds collide, neither willing to back down.

“And his sister too,” Jared adds as an afterthought, realizing what a great leverage Mackenzie will be. It’s obvious that Jensen is willing to do anything and everything to protect her, and anything and everything is exactly what Jared’s going to get.

 

***

 

Jared hasn’t felt this eager and impatient ever since that night long years ago when his father had promised to take him to battle for the first time. He does his best to go through the rest of his day as usual – a sparring session with Chad, an inspection of the ranks, a discussion of the best tactics for the Empire’s upcoming forays with the other war leaders. But despite his best attempts at devoting his full attention to the tasks at hand, the images of Jensen’s eyes, those sinuous lips, that great body, come unbidden and refuse to leave, teasing and taunting Jared, and it’s only his soldier’s discipline that gets him through the day.

Then evening comes – finally – and Jared gulps down his dinner so fast he doesn’t even register what he’s eating, much to his mother’s distaste. He excuses himself from the table early, taking long strides through the spacey, tastefully decorated corridors of his family’s mansion as he heads to his rooms. “Have Jensen escorted to my bedroom,” he instructs the personal slave that’s following him, exactly two steps behind, and the slave nods and scurries off to execute his master’s orders.

Jared takes a quick bath and puts on a loose, comfortable lounging gown, settles on his massive, four-poster bed with a glass of fine red wine and waits.

Five minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door and Jared’s personal slave enters, head bowed respectfully as he steps aside to make room for Jensen who’s flanked by two slave guardsmen.

Jared lets his eyes roam over his newest acquisition, taking in the simple white linen pants and shirt that Jensen’s wearing now, just as Jared had ordered earlier today because making Jensen strip for Jared is going to be so much better than having him naked right from the start. Jensen’s hands are still bound, but the heavy manacles used at the slave market have been exchanged for leather cuffs, fitted snugly around Jensen’s wrists without really damaging his skin.

“Are you going to behave if I let them take these off?” Jared asks, jerking his chin towards the cuffs.

“Will my sister remain unharmed if I do?” Jensen shoots back, straightforward.

A grin slowly spreads across Jared’s face. This is so easy. “Of course.”

Several moments go by as Jensen studies Jared carefully as if searching for a sign that he’s not lying. Which Jared is not – he might be rough and uncompromising, but he isn’t a liar. Jensen must come to the same conclusion too because he gives a curt nod. “Then yes. I’ll behave.”

“Unbind him.”

One of the guardsmen moves to fulfill his command.

“Thank you,” Jensen says when his hands are free, his words clearly directed at the guardsman and not at Jared, but Jared isn’t sure whether that’s just a provocation or a residue of the way the Ackles family treated their own staff and servants; slavery was abolished in their kingdom centuries ago. The guardsman frowns slightly, not used to being acknowledged like this, but he doesn’t dare react in any way.

Waving his hand towards the door, Jared says, “The rest of you can leave now.”

And then they’re alone, Jensen standing still by the door and Jared watching him from his comfortable sprawl on the bed. Even dressed, Jensen is breathtaking, his clothes doing absolutely nothing to conceal his strength and beauty.

“You know why you’re here, what I’m going to take from you.”

Jensen holds Jared’s gaze without as much as flinching. “Yes.”

“Have you ever been with a man before?”

No change in expression. “No.”

A wave of intense arousal runs through Jared. “Wonderful, I get to be your first then.” This is even better than he had hoped. “Take your clothes off.”

Jensen is looking at Jared as he unbuttons his shirt, slipping it over his broad shoulders and letting it fall to the thick, lush carpet under his bare feet, and he’s still looking at Jared as he steps out of his pants, naked once again.

Suddenly thirsty, Jared takes several large swallows of his wine. “You work out a lot,” he comments.

“I’m a warrior,” comes the reply accompanied by a slight shrug.

And yes, now that Jared is closer to Jensen than at the slave market, he can see the various scars that cover the other man’s body. “You’re a lot more like me than I thought.”

Finally something other than dispassionate blankness shows on Jensen’s face: anger and contempt. “I am _nothing_ like you!”

One day, Jared might even take the time and effort to argue about that, but right now he wants something else, something he’s been craving ever since he first laid eyes on Jensen, and he’s going to have it. “Well, not that it really matters now. You’re mine and you’re going to do exactly as you’re told.” He doesn’t have to add the _Or your sister’s in trouble_ , Jensen knows what’s at stake here better than anyone, and he’s not going to risk Mackenzie’s safety for his own pride.

That apparently doesn’t mean he’s going to play the part of a meek and obedient puppy though, judging by the defiant glare he’s giving Jared. Anger looks good on him. But then again, everything looks on Jensen.

Jared laughs and sits up, throws his legs over the edge of the bed. “Glare at me all you want, it doesn’t change anything.” Actually, it makes things even better. Jared’s always appreciated opponents with a strong spirit. “Now come here,” he points at the empty space between his spread legs.

Jensen goes, standing there and waiting for further instructions.

Jared sighs and fights the urge to roll his eyes. Again, he’s not sure whether Jensen is just provoking him with his denseness or whether he truly doesn’t know what’s expected of him at this point. “On your knees.”

Jensen grimaces and bites at his full bottom lip, but he obeys without protest, folding himself until he’s kneeling right in front of Jared’s crotch where the smooth, silky fabric of the lounging gown is tented by Jared’s erection. “You want me to suck you off.”

“For starters,” Jared agrees and doesn’t miss the brief look of disappointment that flits across Jensen’s features. Had Jensen been naïve enough to hope a blowjob would be all Jared would ask him to do tonight? Well, Jared is more than willing to see that hope shattered completely: “I’m going to fuck you, Jensen. So now, get me all nice and wet.”

Jensen reaches for the knot that’s holding Jared’s robe closed and it’s a testament to his courage and self-control that his fingers aren’t trembling at all, steady as they work until Jared’s cock springs free, long and thick and red. Jensen’s eyes widen in fear at the sight.

Chuckling, Jared fists one hand in Jensen’s short, dirty blond hair to draw his head closer to his cock. “Yes, I know I’m big. And it’s all going inside your ass. To the last inch. So it’s really in your best interest to start sucking now.”

The first slow, tentative lick of Jensen’s tongue along Jared’s length has Jared gasping in pleasure, his grip on Jensen’s hair tightening. “Go on. Take me inside that pretty mouth of yours.”

Jensen wraps those perfect lips around Jared, struggling with Jared’s girth, breathing hard through his nose, eyes squeezed shut as he works to get more of Jared into his mouth. He’s clumsy and inexperienced but at this point it doesn’t really matter, the sight more than makes up for his lack of skills. “Yeah, that’s good, pet,” Jared praises him and Jensen’s eyes snap open, glaring daggers from beneath those thick, curled eyelashes. Unable to control himself any longer, Jared snaps his hips forward and Jensen starts to choke, eyes watering as he’s held in place for Jared to use.

It’s too good, Jared isn’t going to last long like this, and he really doesn’t want this over before they even get to the main event, so he abruptly pushes Jensen off him, giving Jensen (and himself) a bit of time to catch his breath before issuing his next command. “On the bed, on all fours.”

It takes Jensen longer to obey this time, as if he’s only now finally realizing the full extent of what’s going to happen, what’s going to be taken from him, and for a short while Jared thinks he’ll have to bring up Mackenzie’s well-being again, but then Jensen takes a deep breath, his face schooled back to blankness once more, and gets into the required position.

Jared quickly slips out of his robe and grabs the jar of oil from his nightstand before climbing on the bed behind Jensen. He allows himself several long, delicious moments to admire the broad shoulders and muscled back that taper to a narrow waist and a firm tight ass. The fact that it also serves to build up the anticipation for Jensen, prolonging the tortuous period of waiting in uncertainty, is just a bonus.

Jensen starts slightly when Jared’s slick fingers slip between his ass-cheeks to circle his entrance, his breaths coming loud and harsh in the silence of the room.

Jared laughs as he pushes one finger inside, not too slow but not too fast either. “What, you really thought I’d fuck you without any kind of preparation?” When Jensen doesn’t respond, he continues, scissoring two fingers inside Jensen’s tight heat as he speaks. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know.”

“Yeah, right.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Jared adds a third finger with considerable difficulty. This would be so much easier if Jensen relaxed and just let it happen, but that’s out of the question at this point. “I mean it. You’re here for my pleasure but that doesn’t mean you have to be in pain.” He withdraws his fingers and slicks up his cock, lining up with Jensen’s entrance. “If you stop fighting this you might even learn to enjoy it one day.”

“Never,” Jensen snarls and then grunts because Jared’s pushing inside, inch by inch until he’s all the way in, just like he promised. “Never,” he repeats, his voice shaky but still determined.

Jared doesn’t let that deter him and concentrates on the way Jensen’s inner muscles contract around him, on the small, distressed sounds Jensen fails to contain. “Don’t be so sure,” he says and reaches around with one hand to find Jensen’s nipple, tweaking and pulling at the small nub of flesh until it stiffens under his touch.

When he slides his palm down the hard planes of Jensen’s chest and stomach to cup his soft cock, Jensen jerks and tries to move away but with Jared above him, he has nowhere to go. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” he growls, and in a different situation the ominous threat in that deep voice would probably make Jared reconsider his actions. But as it is, Jared only squeezes Jensen’s cock again and starts to stroke him, timing the movements of his hand with the thrusts of his cock and after a while Jensen starts to fill in his hand until he’s fully hard.

Jared isn’t conceited enough to think that actually means anything, he knows it’s just a biological reaction any healthy male body would give to such stimulation. But Jensen might not realize that right now and even if he did, the experience is bound to be humiliating to him nevertheless.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Jensen says, his tone flat, his head bowed.

“Not yet,” Jared agrees. “One day it might.”

“It won’t.”

“We’ll see.” Jared keeps one hand wrapped around Jensen’s cock as he speeds up his thrusts, but he’s only concentrating on bringing himself off now. The fingers of his other hand are digging into Jensen’s hip as his pleasure skyrockets quickly. He shouts when he comes, leans his forehead on the center of Jensen’s back, between his shoulderblades, to catch his breath. Jensen is still under him, waiting as he holds Jared’s weight on top of his own. His cock remains hard in Jared’s hand.

“You want me to take care of this?” Jared asks, tasting salt on Jensen’s skin as he opens his mouth to speak, and gives Jensen’s cock a tug.

Jensen snorts. “You know I don’t but you’re gonna do whatever you want anyway. So do us both a favor and stop acting like I have a choice.”

Sighing, Jared lets go of him and moves back, pulling out of Jensen. He watches a trickle of come slip out of Jensen’s puffy, reddened hole. There’s some blood, but not much, and certainly not too much for someone like Jensen to handle. “You’re right about that. But I want to get some sleep so I guess you’re off the hook for now. You’ll come back to service me tomorrow, and every night after that though. Now you can go.”

Jensen has no trouble obeying that particular command, sliding off the bed and reaching for his clothes as fast as he can before he apparently realizes this must look like a hasty retreat and he slows down, getting dressed with as much dignity as he can with his hands shaking and come staining the back of his thighs. And he’s back to staring at Jared like he’s nothing but a roach under the sole of his boot, all cold contempt and disdain and absolutely no respect at all.

“You did well tonight,” Jared says just as Jensen starts to turn away from him. “Continue like this and your sister will be safe for the rest of her life.”

Jensen doesn’t thank him, of course, but he nods before he leaves, which is probably the most Jared can expect from him. He turns then and walks away, his back straight and his head held high as if absolutely nothing happened between them, closing the door without uttering a word.

Shaking his head in fascinated wonder, Jared blows out a long, heavy sigh as he gets under the covers that smell of sex and Jensen and the sweet promise of their shared future.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notices/warnings to the readers because I don’t want to disappoint anyone by giving them false expectations:  
> 1\. This isn’t going to be a porny fairytale in which Jensen and Jared magically fall in love and their relationship makes Jared change his ways and they live happily ever after.  
> 2\. It’s not going to be an epic, plotty story full of politics and court intrigues and emancipation of the masses leading to slavery being abolished and the Empire being overthrown either.  
> 3\. This is going to remain a small-scope story of Jared, Jensen and Mackenzie struggling with their lives and the cards that fate dealt them.
> 
> If you still feel like giving the fic a try then I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it!

Jensen slips through the slightly squeaky door into the small room he and Mackenzie share. The room only has one window that doesn’t bring much light inside and the furniture consists of two hard beds, a simple table and two chairs. It’s a far cry from the luxury they were used to in the royal palace back home, but it’s still an improvement on the conditions they were in during transport to the Empire, and on top of that, as a soldier, Jensen is used to harsh conditions so all things considered he has no complaints about the accommodation.

He knows Mackenzie is doing her best to be brave too – and she’s handling everything amazingly, really – but it’s obvious this is so much harder on her. Not that she’s some spoiled princely brat, quite the opposite, but she _was_   used to some standards, none of which are at her disposal here, and even all that aside, Jensen knows it’s not the lack of comfort per se that bothers her, it’s more what it represents.

It’s a constant reminder of what they’ve lost, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow.

As he closes the door behind him, Mackenzie looks up from where she’s huddled on her bed, back against the corner farthest from the door. Her eyes are big and worried as she looks Jensen over. “Are you alright?” She asks at the same time as he does, and they both smile at one another’s protectiveness.

“You first,” Jensen says as he moves to sit on the bed next to her.

“I’m fine,” she responds quickly, sounding almost impatient. “Nobody came here, nobody touched me.”

Good. At least Jared is keeping his word.

“And you?” Mackenzie asks the question that Jensen’s been dreading ever since he was dismissed from Jared’s room. “Did he…?” She trails off, unable to finish the sentence, and Jensen is grateful for that. It’s bad enough that she knows about the deal he and Jared made at all.

“Yeah, he did.” There’s no point in lying when he reeks of sex like this. He avoids meeting Mackenzie’s searching gaze though. He doesn’t want pity, he’s not sure he could bear seeing it in her eyes. “I’m alright though, it wasn’t… I’m alright.”

She snorts at that and utters a curse Jensen didn’t think she’d even know.

“Mind the language, little sis,” he admonishes her out of habit.

“Why?”  She asks morosely, her voice harsh. “It’s not like I have to watch my manners so I can find a good suitor or so I don’t embarrass my family. They’re all dead.”

She’s only lashing out because she’s hurting, but this is still a low blow and for a long while Jensen doesn’t know how to answer to that, too busy fighting the despair that’s rising up his throat like bile. “You’ve still got me,” is what he comes up with eventually and she nods, snuggling up closer to him. “And even if… even if something happened to me you’d still have yourself. You have to stay strong, you have to keep fighting for yourself Kenzie, you hear me? It doesn’t matter what they take from us, it doesn’t matter how hard they try to hurt and break us. You’re Mackenzie Ackles, the best, smartest, most generous and beautiful person I’ve ever known. If anyone’s strong enough to get through this, it’s you.”

She’s sniffling now, her hot tears staining the thin fabric of his shirt. “At what cost, Jensen? You’ll let that monstrous brute rape you over and over again for me?”

Jensen actually flinches at the cruel, crude word; it’s like a blow to his face. With great difficulty, he forces himself to speak calmly. “Yes, I will. You know I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

“And what about you?” She sits up and subjects him to the same expression their mother used to wear when they’d do something they weren’t supposed to as kids. “Who’s going to keep _you_ safe?”

The answer is ridiculously easy. “You are. As long as you’re safe and unharmed, I’ll be just fine.”

Mackenzie gives him her trademark combination of a frown and a pout. “That’s stupid.”

Despite the direness of their situation, Jensen finds himself smiling. “Maybe. But I’m the older brother so you have to do as I say.”

“You’re stupid.” But there’s a smile tugging at the corners of her lips too now, and that’s all Jensen could ever ask for.

“Sure I am. Now come on, let’s get some sleep.”

He waits until Kenzie curls up on the cot and then lies down next to her, wrapping his larger body around hers protectively. He keeps one hand on her shoulder, caressing her slowly, hoping to calm her down enough for her to fall asleep, but she seems to be as wired as he is and it’s not working. Jensen tries his last resort then and starts to run the pad of his index and middle finger up and down her forehead, right above the bridge of her nose. That always used to work like magic when Jensen and Josh tried to make their little sister sleep as children, and Jensen sends a silent thank you to the gods when he sees that the trick still works now, many years later.

He tries to follow Mackenzie’s example and get some rest, but his mind is too laden with worries and question marks and on top of that he is really sore from what Jared did to him earlier, every move he makes a reminder of something he'd much rather forget.

Jensen stays awake almost all night and when sleep finally comes, his dreams are haunted by Jared’s huge, iron-strong hands on him. Or even worse, on Mackenzie.

But he’s not going to let that happen, not as long as he’s breathing.

 

***

 

Soon after sunrise, Jensen definitely gives up on trying to sleep. He slowly extricates himself from the bed and Mackenzie’s loose hug, careful not to wake her up, and stands up to start his morning workout routine. Now’s definitely not the time to get lazy or careless, he needs to stay in top shape so he’ll be able to defend himself and Kenzie if the need arises. Jared might be keeping his word to leave Jensen’s sister alone for now, but there’s no guarantee that’s going to stay that way.

Jensen’s already done with the crunches and squats and halfway through the pushups when he hears Mackenzie stir in the bed. He doesn’t stop, just turns his head to watch her sit up groggily, yawn and rub her sleep-dazed eyes. She’s never been a morning person and honestly, neither was Jensen originally, but he’d learned to get over that particular trait during the years he spent in the army and then in the war.

The war that he lost.

“Hey,” he greets his sister in the most cheerful tone he can pull off and she makes a sour face before sticking out her tongue at him, making him laugh.

“You seem chirpy,” she observes as she stands up, stretching her arms above her head with another unladylike yawn. “What’s up with you?”

“Exercise,” Jensen replies simply, springing to his feet and finishing his routine off with a round of jumping jacks. “Just as good for the mind as for the body. You should try it.”

“No, thanks,” she scrunches her nose in mock-disgust. “You’re sweaty and you stink.”

“Thank you for the compliment, lady Mackenzie.” He gives her a little bow, placing one palm against his heart before getting serious again. “I mean it, Kenzie. You need to stay strong and fit, and since I don’t think you’ll get a chance at horseback riding or fencing anytime soon, you might as well try this.” He voices the idea that’s been running through his mind during the night next. “I think I should teach you some basic self-defense too.”

Mackenzie nods pensively. “Not that it will do me much good against all the guards in this place, but I guess you’re right. No reason to make it any easier for them, right?”

Jensen can’t fight back a smile at his sister’s attitude. She really is one of a kind. “Right. So how about we start right now?”

“Okay.”

The door swings open just then and two slave guardsmen enter, effectively ruining the sense of relative normalcy for the siblings. One of the men has a bundle of clothes in his hands and he throws them at Jensen who catches it on instinct. “Clean clothes,” he says as if that wasn’t obvious and adds, his words directed at Jensen, “Master Jared said you’re to wear the white ones for him again tonight.”

Outrage and indignation swells inside Jensen but he reins it in; the guardsman has nothing to do with Jared’s orders or his whims and it wouldn’t be fair to take it out on him.

“Get washed and changed now, then come to the refectory for breakfast.” And with that, the guards are gone, not waiting for a verbal confirmation or any other sign of assent from either him or Mackenzie, like it’s assumed that they’ll do whatever they’re told without protest anyway. The idea makes Jensen’s hackles rise.

Staying close to one another, Jensen and Mackenzie rush through the bare, poorly lit corridors of the slaves’ quarters of the Padaleckis’ palace until they reach the communal bathrooms. There are several other slaves in there, shuffling around like mindless automatons, eyes downcast and faces blank, heads bowed and backs hunched. Jensen notices that most of them have telltale hand-shaped bruises or bitemarks on their skin; some even bear scars on their backs that must have certainly come from a whip.

Jensen contemplates trying to establish contact with somebody but decides against it. He wouldn’t want to talk to anyone here either. Sometimes it’s just easier to pretend you’re alone and no one can see your shame.

He washes quickly. There’s only cold water in the basins by the wall – hot water baths are a luxury reserved for the rich and noble, and Jensen is neither anymore – but he doesn’t mind, after all cold water serves its purpose just as well as warm does and he’s really very, very happy that he can finally wash away the dried, flaked come that’s staining his ass and thighs, even if he knows the sense of cleanness is only temporary and doesn’t by any means reach under his skin. He’ll never feel clean inside after last night.

He can hear Mackenzie’s teeth chattering from the stall next to his but he doesn’t look at her, offering her at least some privacy. They don’t look at each other until they’re both dressed, Mackenzie in a simple light blue dress and Jensen in gray pants and shirt.

Suddenly she grows pale and starts shaking her head. "No, no, no..."

“Kenzie? What’s wrong?” Jensen rushes to her side, searching her face for some sign as to what happened. He finds it when he follows the direction of her gaze – she’s staring at the white pants he was wearing last night, now lying discarded on the floor. There are bloodstains coloring the white fabric brownish red at places. He hasn’t noticed before, and he should have, he should have been more careful. She shouldn’t have had to see this.

“Kenzie. It’s alright,” he cups her face in his hands, forcing her to look away from the incriminating evidence of his defilement. “It’s alright.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “No, it’s not,” she whispers and tears start to trickle down her cheeks.

“I swear, I’m fine. I’m telling you, we’ll be just fine,” he repeats over and over again, wiping away the moisture from her skin with his thumbs before drawing her to his chest, holding her in a tight embrace. After a moment, her hands wrap around him and they stand there, clutching onto each other desperately while the other slaves mill around without sparing them a second glance.

 

***

 

The day drags on like a wounded soldier on a sun-parched battlefield, slow and exhausted, with the threat of something dark and ominous hanging over them like a heavy, oppressing sky. Mackenzie is withdrawn and taciturn, almost as lifeless as the slaves, and there seems to be nothing Jensen can do about that, which frightens him more than he would like to admit.

He tried to make contact with the slaves during breakfast and lunch (simple and frugal and Jensen wasn’t really hungry anyway but he knows he has to keep his strength up so he forced both himself and his sister to eat as much as they could), starting with a simple “Good morning” or “Hello”, or even a polite yet heartfelt smile, but all he ever got was quickly averted eyes and silence. He’s determined to keep trying though, hoping that the slaves might be more open and outgoing once they get to know him better and realize he’s not a threat. Not to them, anyway.

Ah, who is he kidding? He’s not a threat to anyone. He couldn’t protect his people, he couldn’t protect his family, and only gods know how long he’ll be entertaining enough for Jared to be able to protect his sister.

That’s why he has to do everything in his power to remain appealing to the tall warrior no matter what it costs him. And if that means he’ll have to roll over and play the part of Jared’s personal fucktoy, then so be it.

These are the thoughts that are rushing through Jensen’s head as he waits in his and Mackenzie’s room for the night to come and for the guardsmen to come pick him up. The waiting is soul-destroying, gnawing at Jensen’s nerves and persistently bombarding the protective wall he’s built inside his mind to keep the fear bordering on panic at bay, but unlike the walls of his city back home, the ones in his mind will not crumble and fall. Jensen won’t let them.

 

***

 

When the sun sets and the time for Jensen to go do his duty approaches, he changes into the pants and shirt Jared ordered for him to wear, wondering whether Jared chose clothes of that particular color so Mackenzie would see them stained later or if he just simply likes Jensen in white.

He finishes buttoning the shirt and only then does he look at Mackenzie who’s watching him sullenly, sitting on the bed with her back against the wall and bare feet tucked under her. She’s looking at him with such sadness that it almost crushes Jensen’s heart.

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” he smiles at her as he pulls up a chair and sits down gingerly, careful not to put too much weight on his ass because to his surprise, the soreness hasn’t gotten any better during the day. “It could still be worse.”

“Oh really? Like what?” She asks, not sounding very interested in his answer.

“He could make me dance,” he offers and his heart does its own little victory dance when he sees a small smile run across her face. “Or even worse, he could force me to listen to one of lord Rosenbaum’s poetry readings.” He pretends to shudder at the thought and Kenzie chuckles softly, so he continues. “Or sit through one of those terrible experimental plays at the Royal Theatre.”

“ _The Great-Aunt’s Periwig_ ,” Mackenzie groans and nods. “I seriously thought I’d die of boredom that night. Ugh.”

“Boredom or frustration,” Jensen adds and stands up, assuming a pose similar to the one of the main character in that horrendous play they saw several years ago, declaring in a high-pitched voice: “Oh my silver periwig, my only friend, where are you?”

Kenzie giggles and shifts on the bed, fluffing her blonde hair before reaching her hands towards Jensen. “Here I am, my dear, faithful companion! Thrown away by our greatest enemy, the hairdresser!”

“Where? I cannot find you!” Jensen squints as if he can’t see her.

“Here!”

This time, Mackenzie’s tears are ones of laughter. Jensen joins her on the bed, wrapping an arm around her petite shoulders as they laugh together, loud and free, even if just for a brief moment. The fact that they’re able to find joy here fills Jensen with new courage and conviction. They’ll get through this.

They sit on the bed in easy, companionable silence interrupted by the occasional chuckle, Mackenzie’s head buried in the crook of Jensen’s neck, her breath warm and comforting on his skin, his hand rubbing circles on her back.

That’s how the guardsman finds them when he enters their room, once again yanking them out of their reverie. “Master Jared expects you now.”

Mackenzie makes a distressed sound as Jensen stands up and moves towards the door.

The guard points at Mackenzie. “Her too.”

“What?” Jensen nearly shouts, his pulse quickening immediately. “Why?”

The guard doesn’t reply, just stands there and waits until Kenzie stands up and then he walks out of the room and since they've got nowhere to run, they follow him through the hallways and several staircases – each one more and more decorated and better illuminated – until they’re standing in front of a large inlaid double door. It’s not the same door that leads to Jared’s bedroom and Jensen is confused, fear and uncertainty prickling at the back of his neck as the door is opened and they’re ushered inside.

The room is airy and tastefully furnished, paintings and statues decorating the walls, a large festive table dominating the space and Jared’s tall, imposing figure at the head of it, leaning back in a cushioned seat and nursing a glass of wine.

“Jensen,” Jared says, a soft, amused smile playing at his lips and making his fox-like eyes twinkle. His gaze stays on Jensen long enough to make his skin crawl.

Mackenzie huffs with irritation.

“And of course, Mackenzie,” Jared shifts his attention to Jensen’s sister.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she snarls defiantly.

The warrior chuckles. “I know you’re not, darling. You’re just like your brother, so brave and so very pretty.” The way his eyes travel over her body is more than telling.

Just like yesterday at the slave market, Jensen steps in front of his sister, holding her back with one arm when she tries to sidestep him. “You leave her alone or the next time you put your dick anywhere near my mouth I’ll just bite it off.”

Jared shrugs, not looking much concerned. “You don’t need teeth to suck me off.”

The threat doesn’t trouble Jensen. “I don’t need teeth to hurt you.”

Several long, tense moments filled with heavy, combustible silence follow and then Jared laughs and shakes his head. “You really are something, aren’t you? No reason to worry though, I’m still keeping my end of our deal.” He motions to the two empty chairs at the table. “Where are my manners? Please, sit down.”

Jensen wants to point out that in his opinion Jared has absolutely no manners at all, but he decides to keep that to himself and moves to hold Mackenzie’s chair for her before sitting down.

Jared claps his hands and slaves pour in, most of them familiar faces now, carrying plates full of deliciously smelling food of all kinds.

When Jensen and Mackenzie both thank the slaves who are pouring their wine and serving the dinner, Jared watches them with suspicious, narrowed eyes. “You keep doing that,” he observes, sounding somewhat confused. “Why?”

“Because they’re people,” Mackenzie replies before Jensen even has the chance to open his mouth.

Jared’s expression hardens. “They’re _slaves_.”

She nods. “Yes. But still people. And they deserve to be treated as such.”

“See, that right there is exactly the kind of attitude that made you lose the war.”

“What made us lose the war was the fact that we were heavily outmanned and outgunned,” Jensen cuts in.

“And why is that again?” Jared asks and pops a grape into his mouth, speaking as he chews. “Oh yes, because your father, your entire country in fact, was stupid and _weak_. You only got what you asked for.”

The arrogant disdain with which Jared speaks about Jensen’s homeland and family makes Jensen’s blood boil and he briefly entertains the possibility of stabbing the fork he’s holding through Jared’s hand, his punishment be damned. The temptation is so strong that he has to tear his gaze off Jared’s mocking face and think about the consequences his actions would have on Mackenzie, which finally helps him regain his composure.

Jared waves a hand impatiently, seemingly growing bored with the debate before it even properly started. Or maybe he’s afraid of the arguments Jensen or Mackenzie might pose, afraid that they might prove him wrong. Jensen suppresses a chuckle at the foolish thought and turns his attention back to the pheasant leg on his plate. It tastes heavenly and he savors every bite, not sure when he’ll be treated to such feast again.

Which brings him to the question that’s been at the tip of his tongue ever since Jared asked them to sit and eat. “Why are we even here?”

“I was curious.”

“About?”

“About you two.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Mackenzie interposes with a deceptively nice, pleasant smile that signals she’s up to something. “See, we’re just slaves. Not worthy of your attention at all, and yet here you are, talking to us as if we were actual _people_. I see an inconsistency in your approach.”

The grip that Jared has on his wine glass tightens dangerously. Great. Leave it to Mackenzie to madden the man who holds their lives in his hands. But still, Jensen can’t help feeling proud of his sister’s wits and sharp tongue.

“I summoned you,” Jared says finally, his voice strained as if he’s doing his best at controlling his anger (the emotion seems to be circulating around the table freely), “because I wanted to decide what to do with you two. Mackenzie can’t be used as a pleasure slave because of the deal I made with Jensen so that’s out of play, and I’m not willing to share Jensen so his services won’t be needed aside from when I call for him. But I can’t have you sitting around in your room all day, you need to make yourself useful if you are to stay. So I want to know: What can you do to contribute to this household?”

Jensen and Mackenzie exchange a surprised look before turning back to Jared who observes them expectantly.

She speaks first. “I can sew and embroider, I can recite and paint and sing, I play the harp and lyre.”

Jared contemplates her answer. “If you’re good enough you might entertain the company during banquets and soirées one day. But for now you’ll spend your time among the seamstresses.” His gaze shifts to Jensen. “And you?”

Not that keen on the prospect of entertaining the Empire’s nobility, Jensen withholds the information that he can sing as well as play the clavichord and zither, and both quite well. “I was trained to be a warrior,” is what he says instead. “Maybe you could give me a position among your guardsmen.”

Jared’s eyes flash dangerously. “Don’t play with me, Jensen. You don’t want to make me angry.” He pauses, maybe waiting for an apology, but once he realizes he’s not going to get it, he sighs and continues. “You’re strong and you have stamina, and we both already know that you’re willing to learn. You’ll work wherever an extra set of hands is needed.”

Now that the matter is settled, Jared doesn’t say anything else and so they continue eating their meals in silence until Jared puts down his knife and fork and sprawls comfortably in his chair, signaling that he’s satisfied his hunger.

Jensen and Mackenzie follow his example and when Jensen looks up from his plate he notices that Jared is watching him intently with a whole different kind of hunger. He licks his lips nervously and Jared’s eyes follow the movement. Jensen suddenly feels like he’s back on that stage at the slave market, a piece of meat free for everyone to ogle and more importantly, free for Jared to take.

Jared pushes his chair back and walks up to Jensen in several long, deliberate steps, a predator approaching its prey. Jensen wills himself not to jump when one of Jared’s large, strong-fingered hands lands on his bicep, squeezing and then travelling up and over Jensen’s shoulder, skimming across his throat and ending its journey on Jensen’s chin, gripping tightly to hold his head in place so one thick, calloused thumb can brush against Jensen’s lower lip.

Mackenzie shifts in her seat nervously and starts to study her fingernails. But even if she’s not looking, there’s no way she can possibly pretend this isn’t happening, especially now that Jared is licking at Jensen’s neck noisily while his hand travels down Jensen’s torso, its progress slow but inevitable.

Jensen detests the idea of begging for anything, especially begging _Jared_ , but he detests the notion that Mackenzie should be subjected to watching this even more, so even though his words taste like bitter defeat on his tongue, he whispers, “Please, not like this.”

Low laughter rumbles inside Jared’s chest, resonating where he’s pressed along Jensen. “I like it when you say that word.”

Pride battles with concern for his sister, but the outcome is already decided, pride never really stood a chance. “Please,” Jensen repeats, louder this time. “Please, don’t make her watch.”

Jared straightens behind him but his hands don’t leave Jensen’s body. “Fine, since you’re asking so nicely. Mackenzie, you may leave now.”

She practically runs out of the room, not looking back once, and Jensen is eternally thankful for that. She’s already seen more than enough.

“Get up,” Jared barks but doesn’t bother waiting for Jensen to obey, just drags him up into a standing position. They’re very close now and Jensen hates that he has to tilt his head back in order to hold Jared’s gaze, but he does it anyway and gives Jared his best cold, withering look.

“Yes, keep doing that,” the taller man drawls with a dark, nasty smirk. “That helpless, stubborn defiance of yours will make this so much sweeter. Now show me your appreciation for letting your sister leave.”

It’s not hard to figure out what exactly Jared wants, not with how his hand still laid on Jensen’s shoulder presses down, heavily enough to get the message across but lightly enough that Jensen sinks to his knees of his own accord, without actually being physically forced. It’s clearly intentional and aiming to humiliate him further by making him actively participate in this, but Jensen refuses to see it that way, instead opting to take the situation for what it really is – him being a good soldier and a good brother and doing everything in his power to protect the one dear thing he has left in his life. Jared’s transparent mind tricks won’t work on him.

That’s what he concentrates on as he lifts his hands to undo the front of Jared’s pants and take out his erection. He can barely wrap his hand around the base of the monstrous thing and as he struggles to take the bulbous head into his mouth, he has a brief flash of detached wonder at the seemingly impossible fact that this was _inside him_ last night, and probably will be again tonight.

Above him, Jared makes a warning sound and his hands in Jensen’s hair tighten painfully. “Watch the teeth.”

He tries to be more careful after that but it’s not easy, considering Jared’s size and Jensen’s complete lack of experience. His jaws start to ache soon and despite his earlier threats Jensen doesn’t really want to risk biting Jared accidentally since Mackenzie’s safety depends on his performance and so he shoves the pain and nausea and muscle fatigue aside and sucks as best as he can, lips sealed tight around Jared’s length and tongue swirling around the tip. He remembers loving that when Danneel would go down on him and… no, he’s not thinking about her; Danneel is gone.

This time Jensen actually welcomes it when Jared speaks again, breaking his glum train of thought: “Your technique’s improving already, soon you’ll be able to take me all the way in. I knew those lips were made for this. _You_ were made for this.”

And here comes fury and exasperation, so much better than memories of lost lovers. Jensen accepts and embraces those intense, dark emotions and uses them to fuel his resolve.

“Wow, slow down,” Jared’s hands push him away suddenly. Jared sounds breathless and his body is shaking with arousal. “You got really excited there.”

Jensen cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “What, afraid of losing control?”

“I never lose control.” It doesn’t sound like bragging, Jared is simply stating a fact. “Get up, let’s finish this elsewhere.” Not bothering to do up his pants, he turns and starts walking away and Jensen follows dutifully and they pass through several more rooms before entering Jared’s bedroom.

“Strip.” Jared’s already getting undressed himself, his movements fast and jerky. “On the bed.”

Not sure whether Jared is just impatient or maybe mad, Jensen quickly assumes the same position as the night before and fights his growing unease as he steels himself for Jared’s touch on him. But it never comes.

“Turn around. I want to see that pretty face tonight.”

Reluctantly, he complies, watching as Jared climbs on the bed and nudges Jensen’s legs apart, settling between them on his knees. He’s truly imposing like that as he towers over Jensen – tall and broad-shouldered, impressive muscles bunching and rippling under his tanned, sweat-slick skin, wild hair framing his face and partially obscuring it from Jensen’s view. Certainly not someone Jensen would like having to face on a battlefield. Not that he likes having to face him now.

“Wider. Knees up.”

Flushing with shame, Jensen keeps staring right over Jared’s shoulder as he holds his legs up and exposes his most private parts, feeling the cool, slick touch of Jared’s fingers working him open. Then Jared is pushing inside and it hurts, it hurts despite the preparation, it hurts more than it did yesterday and Jensen has to bite the inside of his cheek so he can hold back the scream that’s scratching at the back of his throat. He’s a soldier, used to handling pain that comes from battle wounds, but somehow this is worse, different, too intimate and personal, slipping past his line of defense, sliding under his skin and into his blood, travelling through his veins like poison.

“Stop hiding. Look at me.”

Surprisingly, somehow things get easier once he obeys and locks his gaze with Jared’s. He has a specific, definite target for his hatred and anger aside from himself, and that’s good, it’s just like a battle, even though his opponent has the upper hand for now. Jared may be winning as far as their bodies are concerned – and let’s not forget that this particular fight was fixed from the very beginning – but he is nowhere near claiming a victory over Jensen’s mind, and Jensen lets that show on his face.

It only seems to spur Jared on, his fingers digging bruises into the meat of Jensen’s thighs and his thrusts becoming wilder and more erratic, his hazel eyes turning dark with passion, and it isn’t long before Jensen can feel Jared spurting inside him with a long, drawn-out groan.

Jared doesn’t pull out immediately; instead he stays where he is, above and inside Jensen, leaning on muscular arms positioned on either side of Jensen’s body. His forehead is sticky with sweat and one thick droplet slides down his nose and lands on Jensen’s cheek while Jared studies him closely as if he’s trying to see into the deepest, most secret corners of Jensen’s soul.

Jensen doesn’t like it at all.

“You’re like a wild caged tiger,” Jared observes, sounding strangely captivated. “Leashed and collared but still dangerous.” He shakes his head as if surprised by what he’d just said and finally moves away, waving towards the door. “Just… go.”

Limping, sore and more than a little confused, Jensen goes.

As he walks through the now-quiet, mostly sleeping palace under the watchful yet vaguely uninterested gazes of the guards flanking the hallways, he’s suddenly hit full-force with the realization of what happened to him, as if some kind of a protective, numbing veil that he didn’t even know he was wearing was suddenly lifted, confronting him with the harsh, violently bright colors of reality.

He makes it to the bathrooms barely in time.

Even once he’s done throwing up, once even the dry heaves subside and his tears stop falling, he can’t seem to find the energy to move, let alone stand up, so he just sits there on the floor, cold seeping into his bones through the insufficient protection of his thin clothes and making him shiver uncontrollably.

This isn't good. He has to snap out of it.

He pulls himself together step by step, first getting his breathing under control, then his muscles, and only slowly, so slowly, also his mind. He pushes to his feet, sways a little, waits for the new wave of nausea to abate, strips to wash away the sweat and semen and bad memories, then puts the same clothes on.

The pants are stained with blood again. Jensen should probably start keeping a fresh, clean pair he could change into somewhere here in the bathrooms so Mackenzie won’t have to see the stains in the future. Because one thing is certain: they're not going anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

As Jared spurs his dapple through the milling, buzzing crowds that fill the streets leading from the Emperor’s palace back to his family’s mansion, he can’t help wondering how exactly things could go wrong so quickly. When he rode to the Palace this morning, he certainly didn’t imagine he’d be leaving it like this.

Emperor Kripke called this meeting himself, inviting his oldest, most trustworthy generals like Singer or Manners, and then some of the younger, promising leaders on the rise, Jared among them.

Things were not going well in the fallen Ackles kingdom, Kripke had informed them with a dark, dissatisfied gleam in his eyes. Even with the royal family gone and the aristocracy dragged away in chains, the people kept refusing to yield to the occupant, as they called the Empire. Several protests resulted in a massacre and even though the people got more careful after that, they clearly weren’t giving up yet. It was necessary to step in, to smother the surviving resistance before it grew into an open, full-scale rebellion.

Jared, as one of the leaders of the first campaign and someone who spent lots of time in the Kingdom, was foolish enough to offer to handle the situation. Kripke’s response was a dismissive snort and then the Emperor turned to his favorite, Commander Heyerdahl, and entrusted him with the task instead. Only Jared knew that wasn’t going to work because Heyerdahl was too cruel, too extreme. The persecutions and massive public executions Heyerdahl had already started raving about would only lead to turning even those who hesitated against the Empire’s dominance. He’d drown the country in blood, then climb on top of the pile of corpses and declare himself the victor. And Kripke would pat him on the shoulder and award him another medal.

Jared knew that most of the men present in the room shared his opinion, but only he was stupid and reckless enough to say it out loud. And just like that, he’d fallen from grace. The Emperor rejected every single one of Jared’s suggestions and topped off Jared’s humiliation by ordering him and his unit to take part in the two-week inspection of the defense lines on the Western Frontier, which translated into “get out of my sight, keep your mouth shut and pray you’ll be forgiven”.

The sense of complete, utter helplessness and shame is painful and frustrating in ways Jared has never experienced before. He’s never felt like this, like he’s been pushed to the sidelines and now is condemned to watch the rest of the race without having a chance to influence the outcome. It makes him want to scream, to punch and kick and tear with his bare hands, his entire body thrumming with the need to just _do something_ , to let the frustration out, to win some of the control back.

The moment he rides through the mansion’s gate, the hoof of his horse barely missing a guard’s arm, Jared gets an idea how to do that. He spots Jensen by the far corner of the courtyard, unloading a wagon carrying fruits and vegetables from the Padalecki farms in the countryside. Just like that, the anger and frustration morphs and transforms into violent, hungry, possessive desire, the one that Jared always feels when he lays eyes on the man. The man who, just like his kingdom, was forced to bend but refuses to break.

Jared dismounts before his horse even slows down and then he’s moving across the courtyard towards Jensen. “With me. Now.”

Jensen doesn’t say anything, just throws one wistful glance at the gate that is already being closed again and follows after Jared. He’s not keeping the required two-steps-behind distance a slave should always maintain, instead stretching his long, slightly bowed legs and easily matching Jared’s angry, swift stride, walking as if the place belongs to him. And the worst thing is that he probably isn’t doing it on purpose either, it’s just the way he is. It sets Jared’s teeth on edge, but at the same time it turns him on. Jared isn’t sure what to think of that, what to do with that.

Except for the obvious choice, of course.

He lets Jensen enter his bedroom first and slams the door behind them with much more force than strictly necessary; he’s practically brimming over with savage, furious energy. “Get ready for me,” he points at the jar of oil he keeps on his nightstand.

When Jensen doesn’t react immediately, Jared realizes that up until now, it’s always been him who prepped Jensen. Well, he doesn’t feel like waiting and being nice today. “If you don’t do it before I finish getting undressed, I’m gonna fuck you dry,” he warns and bends down to start unfastening his greaves. It’s going to take him some time before he sheds the full festive armor but he does it as fast as he can, not because he wants to catch Jensen unprepared, simply because he can’t wait any longer or he’ll explode.

Once he’s naked he looks to see that Jensen is on the bed, on his knees and resting his weight on one arm while the other is drawn back, two fingers moving awkwardly in and out of his ass. Two’s not enough, but at this point Jared doesn’t care. He wants, and when he wants he just _takes_ , that’s who he is, he’s daring and powerful, a master of his destiny, not a puppet in someone’s – even Kripke’s – hands; oh no, he’s the puppeteer.

He impatiently bats Jensen’s hand away and starts pushing in past the tight resistance of Jensen’s insufficiently stretched rim. It goes too slow. Jared doesn’t want slow.

Grabbing onto Jensen’s narrow hips, Jared uses all his considerable strength and shoves forward, his groan of pleasure not loud enough to block out Jensen’s swallowed yelp of pain. He pulls out and slams back in again, reveling in the way Jensen is attempting vainly to fight the intrusion, his inner muscles contracting deliciously and his whole body jarring with the force of Jared’s rough, brutal thrusts, barely able to hold himself upright under the assault.

It’s good, but it’s not enough.

Jared lets go of Jensen’s hips – there are dark red marks on the pale skin there, bruises already forming – and leans forward to get hold of Jensen’s right arm. He pulls and twists it back and up at the same time as he wraps his other hand around the nape of Jensen’s neck and presses down, forcing Jensen’s face into the pillow. Jensen’s free hand flails helplessly and his whole body tenses even more before he starts to struggle in earnest for the first time.

“Stop fighting me or Mackenzie takes your place,” Jared growls and feels Jensen go loose and pliant under him immediately. “That’s better.”

He keeps his hands where they are, one on Jensen’s neck and the other holding his arm twisted painfully behind his back. It gives Jared all the power and he uses it to his best advantage as he fucks Jensen harder than ever before, harder than he’s ever fucked anyone.

It’s good, but it’s not enough. Something’s still missing – Jensen is silent when Jared wants to hear him scream.

Sliding his hand up Jensen’s neck, Jared catches hold of a handful of thick hair barely long enough for this to work and roughly yanks backwards, forcing Jensen to raise his head from the pillow while still keeping his body down with the pressure on his arm. It must be painful but Jensen still doesn’t make a sound other than the sharp, controlled exhales that come at the rhythm of Jared rocking into him.

“Stop holding it inside. I want to hear you.” When nothing changes, Jared quickly adds, “Either you scream for me or she does.”

On the next sharp snap of Jared’s hips, Jensen cries out, the sound raw and desperate as if now that he’s opened the floodgate he can no longer hold it under control. And that’s it, that’s what Jared was waiting for. He briefly lets go of the other man so he can wrap both arms around his torso and pull him into an upright position until Jensen’s back is flush with Jared’s chest, and bites hard on the juncture of Jensen’s throat and shoulder, tasting salt and copper.

Jensen screams again, louder this time, and his fingers clutch at the flesh of Jared’s thighs where he’s holding onto him for balance. He screams when Jared’s nails find his nipple and pinch it cruelly. He screams when Jared buries his teeth into the soft lobe of his ear. He screams when Jared’s palm closes around his balls and squeezes. But it’s the small, scared, helpless whimper he makes when Jared starts to play with his cock, threatening to get him hard and make him enjoy this, that sends Jared right over the edge.

Best way of stress relief ever.

Not ready to release Jensen from his arms yet, Jared holds him close and feels the shivers that run through Jensen’s body as the man struggles to compose himself. Jared kind of wants to keep him there and make good on his threat to bring him off, but now that his mind is clearer and he can think straight again, he knows he doesn’t have the time for that now. He has to make preparations for his trip to the Western Frontier, notify and mobilize his unit… Oh, Chad is so not going to be happy about this.

“Get dressed,” Jared mutters as he reluctantly lets go. “And don’t think this means your duties are over for the day. I’m still expecting you later tonight.”

Jensen gives no response, but he doesn’t waste any time moving away from Jared. He keeps his back to him as he begins putting on his clothes, which is a shame because Jared can’t see his face, but at least it allows him to admire the messy artwork of scrapes, bruises and bitemarks he’s left all over the canvas of Jensen’s pale skin, as well as the trickle of semen and blood leaking out of his ass.

Jared’s cock stirs again at the thought that Jensen will go through the rest of his day like this, being constantly reminded just who his body belongs to, and an idea springs to his mind. “Don’t wash up. I want to be able to smell myself on you when the day is over.”

Finally dressed, Jensen turns to look at Jared, head inclined to one side, one eyebrow raised and mouth quirked upwards as if for some reason he finds Jared’s words amusing. He’s apparently back to his irritatingly unflappable old self, the gates protecting his emotions firmly closed again. That’s fine though, Jared knows they _can_ be opened, and he’s planning on doing it again. After all, repeatedly forcing them open and then watching Jensen struggle with shutting them is going to be so much more fun than tearing them down permanently.

But Jared needs to stop thinking about that now; he’s got more important - if less pleasant - items on the agenda at the moment. “Get back to work.”

Jensen gives his usual curt nod – he should bow, but he hasn’t done that yet and it doesn’t seem very likely he’s going to in the foreseeable future – and leaves. Only when he’s gone and the room falls into silence, Jared realizes that Jensen hasn’t said a word to him the whole time.

He feels strangely cheated by that.

*

Jensen is much more vocal later that night when Jared informs him he’s leaving for the Western Frontier tomorrow and intends to take Jensen with him.

How he manages to look downright scary after two more rounds of rough, violent sex, on his knees and with Jared’s come dripping down his face and oozing out of his ass, is completely beyond Jared, but somehow Jensen does it. “If anything happens to Mackenzie while I’m gone you’re going to regret it,” he says in a perfectly calm, composed, low tone, as if he’s letting Jared in on a secret, and Jared believes him.

 

***

 

Jared hates inspections. They’re too official and formal, all about shaking hands and faking smiles and exchanging empty phrases and going through piles of paperwork. This is no task worthy of a warrior of Jared’s qualities, and that’s exactly why Kripke sent him here. The Western Frontier is a long line of fortresses, one within view of the other, stretching across the border with the Great Plains, but the thing is, nobody lives in the Plains except for several small nomadic tribes who pose absolutely no threat to the Empire.

Nothing drains Jared’s energy faster and more efficiently than useless tasks. He can take long marches, walking until his legs feel like lead and then some, he can take hunger and thirst when the supplies are thin, he can take the ache of bone-tired muscles in his arms from holding his sword and shield in battle for days on end – because all that has its reason, it’s a way to conquer and bring in new lands, new slaves, new riches and treasures, for the good of the Empire and its people.

But this? This is a waste of Jared’s talent, of his knowledge and skills that could be used so much better elsewhere. Like in the Ackles kingdom, where Commander Heyerdahl is without doubt already wreaking havoc and spilling gallons of blood in a foredoomed attempt to subdue the people with blunt force while Jared knows it could be done much easier, without the bloodshed.  Instead of actively seeking out and punishing insurgents and resistance fighters, Heyerdahl should be supporting and rewarding informants and collaborators; instead of executions and interrogations there should be markets showcasing all the exotic, quality goods and improved living standards that come with being citizens of the Empire. It’s always smarter to use the carrot than the stick.

Of course, there’s no point in thinking about that now. The Kingdom isn’t Jared’s problem anymore. He’s here, in the middle of nowhere, and he’s going to have to spend twelve more days here. If he doesn’t die of boredom first, that is.

The sun is setting after a long, dreadfully uneventful day and Jared drags his feet through the large military camp towards his tent, the vision of his lambskin-covered cot and Jensen on it, spread out for Jared’s eyes and hands, the only thing that keeps him going.

And then he hears the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle – coming from the direction of his tent. He breaks into a run and covers the distance in a matter of several seconds, finding the source of the noise in a tight circle of maybe ten soldiers standing in front of the tent.

“That’s enough!” His men – his own men, dammit! – spring to attention. Or, at least most of them do. Two remain where they are, holding down a naked, kneeling Jensen and looking like they’re having a really hard time keeping him subdued.

Has he made an attempt to escape? Jared’s fists clench in rage at the thought, but he discards the idea immediately, Jensen wouldn’t risk Mackenzie’s life like this. No, something else happened here, and Jared’s rage changes direction from Jensen to his men. “What happened?” Their faces pale as they realize just what they’ve gotten themselves into. Nobody answers though and Jensen laughs, the sound cut off abruptly when one of the soldiers holding him down presses a forearm against his windpipe.

“Get your hands off him,” Jared growls and the men step back, leaving Jensen alone in the middle of the circle.

Jared takes in the picture before him. Jensen’s clothes torn and discarded in the dust. The soldiers with their uniforms in disarray, most of them bruised and bleeding. And Jensen, with his knuckles bloody where his hands rest on his thighs; with bruises covering his skin and blood dripping sluggishly from a cut on his eyebrow, mixing with a large gob of spit on his left cheek. All clues put together, the conclusion is self-evident, but Jared wants to hear it from his men nevertheless. “I asked you a question,” he glances around the circle of men, willing them to speak.

Jensen stands up but doesn’t leave the center of the circle as if trying to prove that he doesn’t need – or want – Jared’s protection, and answers for them. “What happened is that these gentlemen decided they wanted a free taste of my princely ass. What happened,” he rests his hands on his hips as he looks over his assailants with the cold contempt he usually spares only for Jared, “is that I decided the only thing they’d get from me for free would be a punch to the face.”

Jared nods and looks back at his men. “Anyone wants to add anything?”

Nobody speaks. At least they know better than to try to lie or make excuses.

Groaning, Jared runs a hand over his face tiredly. All he wanted tonight was a quick fuck and then sleep, but that’s out of the picture now. A large crowd of onlookers has gathered around them, all men from Jared’s unit, and they know the Empire’s laws, they’re expecting Jared to discipline those who violated them.

“Trying to use somebody else’s slave without permission means twenty lashes,” he says out loud, then speaks to the guilty men specifically. “Report to Sergeant Cohen for your punishment at once.”

They go, but the rest of the crowd stays, waiting. Jared turns to Jensen, whose expression tells Jared that he knows whatever’s coming next isn’t going to be pretty.

“Harming a free man is punishable by one hundred lashes.”

Jensen blanches, eyes widening in pure terror for a moment before he schools his features back into impassivity, hiding the turmoil that must be going on inside him now.

“However,” Jared continues, “there are two mitigating circumstances working in your favor. One, you didn’t initiate the conflict. And more importantly two, you were only doing what a good slave would do – protecting your master’s property.”

Jensen’s lips twitch as if he wants to say something and Jared can practically see the gears turning in his head. Jensen can either play stupid and brave and refuse Jared’s help or he can do the smart thing and accept it by remaining silent. Jared hopes for the latter; he really has no desire to inflict that kind of pain on anyone, let alone his new favorite slave.

After several long beats, Jensen hangs his head, accepting Jared’s offer. It’s not that much of a surprise really. Jensen has, after all, given Jared no reason to consider him stupid so far.

“I believe that if we take these circumstances into consideration, we might reduce the punishment to say… thirty lashes.” He can see the relief in Jensen’s eyes. “Come with me.”

Jensen walks with him through the camp without saying a word. Then they stand side by side and watch as Sergeant Cohen executes the sentence on one man after another.

Jensen’s turn comes last and he bears his punishment in stoic silence.

Jared wouldn’t expect anything less from him.

* 

Later, after he’s been given medical attention, Jensen is lying on his stomach in his corner of Jared’s tent, watching Jared curiously. The welts on his back, ass and thighs look ugly but Sergeant Cohen is a master of his trade and his leather strap never struck the same spot, never broke Jensen’s skin. The purpose of such punishment is to teach the culprit a lesson, not to kill or maim him permanently.

Jared himself is on the bed, slowly sipping local wine. It’s not as good as the one from his family’s wine cellar in the City, but Jared doesn’t exactly consider himself a connoisseur. Wine is wine, and as long as it’s red and strong, he’s happy.

He can feel Jensen’s eyes on him now though, and that’s disturbing his peace. “What?” He snaps when he can’t stand it anymore.

Jensen lifts himself up a bit, wincing at the pain the movement brings him, and props his chin on his hand. “Why did you help me?”

Jared shrugs. “I’m not a fan of redundant cruelty.”

“Yes, you’re a selfless philanthropist.”

“Actually, I might just be,” Jared shoots back, feeling almost insulted by Jensen’s off-hand mockery. He doesn’t like being undervalued. “You can’t deny I try to be just and fair, and I keep my slaves fed and clothed and healthy. There are much worse masters than me, Jensen. Maybe you should think about that.”

The grimace Jensen makes says just what he thinks about that, but then his expression changes, something akin to insecurity creeping in, possibly even doubt. He shrugs it off though and proceeds to study Jared curiously with that clever, assessing gaze. “I don’t need your help. You didn’t have to do it.”

“Well, you didn’t have to accept it.”

That obviously catches Jensen off-guard and he quickly looks away, which is good because then he can’t see Jared’s smug, amused smile.

 

***

 

“So,” Chad leans back in his chair and stretches out his arms, “I heard what happened with your pretty prince yesterday.”

“He’s not my prince,” Jared corrects his friend and second in command but concedes, “Although he _is_ mine.”

“And he _is_ pretty.” Chad gives Jared the leer he still considers hot despite the expression’s total lack of success with women. “So tell me, what’s he like?”

Sighing, Jared massages the bridge of his nose to fight the headache that’s been bothering him ever since he woke up today. “Chad, we’re supposed to be working,” he taps one finger against the thick folder of reports from the Western Frontier’s commander.

“Aw, come on, man!” Chad makes a long face, the one that surprisingly gets him pretty far with women. “We’ve been at it for hours already. I assert that we need a break.” When Jared groans in surrender, Chad perks up. “So, what’s Ackles like? I mean, besides badass enough to hand out over a dozen punches to the Empire’s elite fighting unit. Which is hilarious, by the way.”

“You shouldn’t be so excited, you’re a member of said unit too, remember?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate another dude’s fighting skills. And quit avoiding the subject. What’s he like in bed? I bet he gives amazing blowjobs.”

Chad’s been Jared’s best friend ever since they met in Academy. They’ve never kept secrets from each other, they’ve always shared every little detail of their lives. That’s why Jared opts for honesty. “He’s… he’s improving quickly. He’s learning.”

The other man gapes. “Wait, what? You mean you didn’t have him trained first?”

Jared understands the disbelief; this is far from the standard procedure. “Yeah. His sister neither.” He proceeds to explain the very unconventional deal he made with Jensen, just like he had to explain it to his father after he'd brought the Ackles siblings into the household.

When he’s done, Chad still gapes. “Jared, that’s fucking irresponsible. Without proper slave training, they could both be dangerous.”

“They won’t try anything, they’re too protective of each other. Believe me, I keep them in check.”

Chad still looks doubtful, but he’s always trusted Jared’s judgment, so he doesn’t raise any more objections on the topic. He’s still clearly confused, though. “Why would you even do that? You buy the prettiest piece of ass on the market and then waste the potential like this? I just don’t get you, man.”

“Look, it’s not all about skill and experience, okay?” This is getting difficult to explain. “I don’t want a mindless body to fuck, I have plenty of pleasure slaves for that. I don’t want him beaten into obedience, I want someone with a strong mind of their own, I want a fight, a challenge.”

“Yeah, that’s called marriage.”

“No, marriage is wedding some boring girl because you want her family’s wealth and power.” They both snort and make appropriately disgusted faces. “This, with Jensen? It’s like a duel, we’re constantly trading blows and you never know who’s gonna win the round.”

“But you own the wrestling ring.”

Jared grins and claps his friend on the shoulder. “Now you’re getting it. I’m always gonna win the match in the end and he knows it, and he hates it so fucking much, he fights it every step of the way. And that’s what makes him the best fuck I’ve ever had.”

Chad whistles, looking impressed, then gives Jared a questioning look. “You wouldn’t consider sharing him, would you?”

“Hell no,” is Jared’s first, instinctive reaction, its intensity catching him by surprise. “No one touches him but me.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” Chad doesn’t give up yet. “How about his sister then? ‘Cause personally I think she’s even prettier than him. That scalding look she gave us at the auction, man… What’s her name again?”

“Mackenzie,” Jared supplies. “And no, no one touches her either.”

With an exasperated sigh, Chad runs his fingers through his light blond hair, messing it up. “You’re really taking this deal with him seriously, aren’t you?” When Jared holds his gaze steadily and doesn’t respond, he shakes his head in disbelief. “Dude, you’re totally whipped.”

Jared just smirks. “I’m just trying to protect you. She’s a fierce little minx, you know. Damn smart, too. I don’t think you could handle her.”

“Huh.” Chad looks positively intrigued now, his face glazing over as he gets lost in some fantasy. He’s always had a weakness for bossy, strong-willed women, has always been drawn to them like a moth to the flame – the analogy often working completely, including the getting burned part.

Jared pokes him in the cheek. “Dude, stop daydreaming and get back to work.”

Chad scowls and grumbles, but does as he’s told.

  

***

 

Even though the sun has already nearly set, Jared’s men are still moving through the camp, organized by the sergeants supervising the last preparations. They’re finally leaving tomorrow, after two long, interminable weeks. As soon as sunrise comes, they’ll tear down the tents and start the three-day journey back to the City, where hopefully Jared will manage to win the Emperor’s favor back and everything will return to normal. Kripke is capricious and sometimes whimsical, but Jared’s highly positive report of the situation on the Western Frontier might soften his heart, so Jared is mostly hopeful.

When he enters his tent, letting the curtain fall closed behind him, Jensen is already watching him from his usual spot in the far corner, lounging on the sheepskin that serves as his bed in all his naked glory. The welts on his skin are mostly faded by now, not prominent enough to be distracting anymore, and Jared takes the opportunity to admire the view.

He makes a stop once his eyes reach Jensen’s neck and the slave’s collar tattooed there, complete with Jared’s name. If Jensen ever tries to escape and actually manages to get past Jared’s guards, he won’t make it far with that tattoo anyway, the first person who sees him will report him immediately – the reward for catching an escaped slave is extremely generous. The carrot better than the stick again.

Jensen presses his lips together in reaction to Jared’s scrutiny, but the defiant, challenging fire that usually burns wild in those green eyes doesn’t come tonight; in fact, there’s not even a smolder.

Unsettled, Jared inquires, “What’s up with you?”

Standing up slowly, Jensen rises to his full height with his typical easy, fluid elegance. At least he’s not hunching his shoulders and bowing his head in the required slave posture; that would definitely finish the job of throwing Jared off balance. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about other slave owners being much worse than you.”

It takes Jared a moment to realize what Jensen is referring to. “Oh. And?”

Jensen shifts his weight, looking slightly flustered, like he’s not exactly happy with whatever he’s about to say. “And… I guess you’re right about that.” He shifts again and looks away. Jared doesn’t remember ever seeing him like this, actually nervous and insecure, hesitant. “That day when you bought me and my sister, there were other men and women, my fellow citizens, sold at the auction. And I can’t stop thinking about them, where they are, what’s happening to them.” He takes a deep breath and looks up, right into Jared’s eyes. “I want you to buy them.”

Of all the things Jared was expecting to hear, this wasn’t one of them. “What?” Is all he manages, completely forgetting to reprimand Jensen for the way his request sounded more like an order.

“I want you to buy them,” Jensen repeats, more urgently this time but still with much more patience and humbleness than he usually displays. “Who knows what horrible conditions they’re in. You…  you said it yourself, you take care of your slaves. So if you bought them at least I’d know they’re safe.”

“We’re talking about a lot of money here.”

Jensen nods. “I know.”

“I have enough slaves, I don’t need to buy any more. So tell me, Jensen, why exactly should I do it?”

Still holding Jared’s gaze, Jensen replies by slowly sinking to his knees. He’s never done that without having to be told before and Jared wonders whether he stood up earlier just so he could make a show of going back down for Jared’s pleasure. The idea is very satisfying.

But not nearly enough. “I appreciate the effort, but you have to understand there is nothing you could offer to me in return. Not really.”

“Please, I could–”

Rising one hand for silence, Jared interrupts him sternly. “No. Your body is already mine and your obedience and cooperation can always be enforced by threats against your sister. You have absolutely nothing that I couldn’t take right now.” He waits for the realization to dawn on Jensen that his decision is final and only then begins to undress. By the time he’s naked, his cock stands hard and red, bouncing slightly in front of Jensen’s face.

Jensen watches it with a passive, almost uninterested look, apparently still more concerned with the fates of his less fortunate former subjects than with his own.

“There’s nothing I can’t make you do,” Jared tells him, feeling powerful and secure in the knowledge that what he says is true. “And I’m going to prove it. You’re going to scream for me tonight, Jensen. In ecstasy.”

Jensen gives a faint shake of his head in protest. The gesture is probably unconscious – he has to know by now that when Jared gets an idea into his head, he doesn’t stop until it becomes reality. He got away with avoiding this particular scenario up till now, but not anymore.

“You know it had to happen eventually.” Jared fists one hand in Jensen’s hair and starts walking towards the bed, forcing Jensen to crawl behind him on his knees. When they reach the bed he pats the covers with one hand. “Up. Ass in the air.”

As soon as Jensen does what he’s told, Jared retrieves his jar of oil, pouring some into his palm. Jensen doesn’t give any reaction when he's breached with one slick finger, but Jared knows better than to attribute that to anything other than Jensen’s stubborn refusal to show any weakness, to reveal any part of himself that he doesn’t have to.

That’s not going to work tonight. Jared takes his time opening Jensen up with his fingers, making sure to brush against his prostate every so often, and when he combines the stimulation with massaging Jensen’s balls and cock, it doesn’t take long before Jensen starts to shiver and pant under his touch.

“See? You’re all happy already.”

“I’m not.” It’s barely audible but still loud enough to convey both the resentment Jensen wants Jared to hear and the arousal that he was probably hoping to hide.

“Oh yes, you are. And it gets even better.” Satisfied with the state of Jensen’s readiness – he wants it to be as smooth and easy as it possibly can, nothing to distract Jensen from the pleasure – Jared gives Jensen’s firm ass a sharp slap. “Move over.”

Jensen slides off the bed and Jared takes his place, lying down comfortably on top of the covers, arms folded under his head. “You’re going to ride me and you’re going to come with my dick inside you. And you’re going to love it.” When Jensen just stares at him numbly, he adds, “Hop on already.”

With a murderous glare, Jensen climbs back onto the bed and straddles Jared, taking his cock in one calloused hand to hold it steady as he starts sinking down onto it.

“Not so fast,” Jared warns him, immediately identifying Jensen’s eagerness as an attempt at making this more painful and less enjoyable. “Go nice and slow, you don’t want to hurt yourself.”

The murderous glare intensifies but Jensen obeys, going slowly until he takes Jared all the way in. His own cock has softened a little but still remains more than half-hard, a fact that he must surely hate just as much as Jared loves it.

“You can start moving anytime you want,” Jared says in a friendly tone, chuckling at the anger that flashes in Jensen’s eyes. “And remember – nice and slow.”

This particular position is in general very flattering to the one doing the riding, and Jensen always looks ridiculously hot, so the resulting effect is bound to be nothing short of breathtaking. Jared’s mouth waters at the sight. He honestly doesn’t know where to look first when all the choices are so tempting: those thick, powerful thighs, the flat abs and well-defined chest with dusky pink nipples, the corded muscles of Jensen's arms braced on Jared’s legs, the long, elegant stretch of his neck, the white teeth worrying at his plump bottom lip, the dark lashes resting against fair skin peppered with freckles.

The only thing missing here is Jensen’s mind. His movements are automatic, his eyes closed, his cock not softening but not getting any harder either. He’s still withdrawn, keeping himself away from the situation he’s in, and Jared can’t allow that. He wants to see Jensen, the _real_ Jensen, come apart on his cock tonight.

“Hey.” Jared speaks and Jensen’s eyes snap open, focusing on him. “There’ll be no more hiding inside that pretty head of yours. We’re not done here until you get off, so you better get on with the program already.”

“You’re serious about this,” Jensen sounds as if he only realized that now. When Jared nods, he follows up with a painfully honest, surprisingly innocent question: “Why?”

“Because you’re _mine_.” The words roll off his tongue easily. “Your body is mine, your soul is mine, your pain is mine, and your pleasure is mine.  You should be thankful that I want to see your pleasure and not your pain.”

There’s a long moment where neither of them says anything, everything quiet in the tent except for the background noise coming from outside, Jensen’s slightly labored breathing and the soft slapping sounds of flesh against flesh.

Then Jensen mutters “Okay,” and it sounds like surrender but he also seems almost relieved, as if he’s glad he doesn’t have to fight this anymore. “Okay,” he repeats, louder and more decisive, and wraps the fingers of his right hand around his shaft, letting out a low, long moan as he starts to stroke himself.

Jared’s arousal, which has been on a steady level for some time, spikes immediately. “That’s right, yeah,” he encourages. He’s still only moving up into Jensen with small, shallow thrusts, but it costs him a lot of effort. “Just like that.”

The temperature outside drops quite low at night but here in the tent the air is still fairly hot and Jensen’s candlelight-golden skin is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the moisture collecting in the dip between his collar bones and then sliding down. Jared wants to taste it and he wants to touch, but he refrains from doing either, for now settling for just watching.

This is Jensen’s show, he needs to do this by himself.

It seems to be working because soon Jensen begins to move faster, rising up and forcefully slamming down onto Jared’s achingly hard cock as if he’s trying to get Jared as deep inside him as possible, his body arched into a tight bow. He’s jacking himself off in earnest now, fingers flying over the dark head of his erection. His head is thrown back, mouth hanging obscenely open and releasing one deep, punched-out groan after another. Jensen looks positively debauched, completely lost in the sensations washing over him like tidal waves, and he’s taking Jared with him.

And then Jensen gets louder, loud enough to be heard by the entire camp, and the sound he makes when he shoots thick ropes of milky white fluid all over his hand and stomach is nearly enough for Jared too, and Jared can’t hold himself back any longer. He makes a quick process of flipping Jensen onto his back and hooking his legs over his shoulders, and starts rutting into him. He doesn’t last even a minute and then he’s done, coming inside Jensen’s tight hole and staring into that wide-eyed, flushed face.

He waits until he catches his breath before asking, “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Jensen actually smiles at him, not just with his mouth but with his eyes too. “Yeah, not so bad.” He sounds light-hearted, satisfied. “Can I go to sleep now?”

“Ah, you wore yourself out?” Jared chuckles. “Guess you’ll need to work on your stamina.”

“There is nothing wrong with my stamina,” Jensen huffs, affronted. His recovery time from a fucked-out, blessed-out puddle of moans and trembling flesh is truly remarkable. “I just thought it might be smart to get some sleep before the big journey tomorrow.”

There is no arguing with that, even though had Jared been feeling slightly less generous and victorious, he might have reproached Jensen for that tone. “Good point. Alright, off with you.” He waits until Jensen’s settled back in his corner and then he blows out the candles, lying back down into the bed that is still warm and smells of their coupling. "I hope you learned your lesson from this.”

“I did,” Jensen answers from the darkness, sounding tired and sleepy.

“Good.” Jared rolls to his side and closes his eyes, waits for sleep to come. Images of Jensen lost in the throes of passion rise up in his mind instead, and he doesn’t even try to fight them. He savors replaying the scenes as they unfolded, first with Jensen as a reluctant, forced participant, then the resignation and change of attitude leading to Jensen stripping away all those protective layers and baring himself for Jared’s pleasure, and for his own.

He smiles as he visualizes the way Jensen looked above him, all hungry and eager, his body displayed in a provocative show of muscle and skin like in those pictures in pornographic books, his sounds of pleasure loud and uninhibited like those of a high-class prostitute.

And in that moment, it suddenly hits Jared that this is exactly what he got out of Jensen tonight: sex with a whore putting on a show to satisfy the customer. Looking back, he realizes now that the moans and screams were a bit too loud and excited, the poses and movements a bit too artificial and affected, all carefully calculated for effect. Jensen hasn’t really revealed anything of himself, he was merely acting, and Jared fell for it hook, line and sinker.

It seems like Jensen won this round after all.

That’s alright though, because this match is far from being over.


	4. Chapter 4

Once their duties for the day are done, Mackenzie and the other two seamstresses, Alona and Samantha, have supper in the communal dining room together with several other slaves whose work is also finished.

They don’t talk much while they eat, but it’s not the heavy, tense silence that hung over their shared meals back when Mackenzie and Jensen first came here, back when the other slaves still didn’t know what to think of them, how to treat them, whether to trust them. This now is different, the silence friendly and companionable as they all huddle around the simple wooden table, bent over their bowls of chicken and vegetable broth, savoring every warm spoonful.

The others are going to stay here to talk and maybe play some games or tell stories like they usually do when their work is over and they have some free time to spare, but Mackenzie excuses herself as soon as she’s finished eating. Nobody bothers trying to persuade her to stay now; they already know she wants to use this short window of opportunity to be with her brother before he has to go fulfill his… other duties.

Of course, it’s also perfectly possible that he’s still outside, working on whatever task he’s been given for the day. Sometimes he comes back sooner than Mackenzie but sometimes he works so late that he barely has time to wash up and change before he has to go to Jared, and there’s no telling which one it’s going to be.

Just as soon as Mackenzie enters their room and closes the door, she hears soft footsteps behind her, approaching silently. She begins to turn around but isn’t fast enough, and then there are strong, muscled arms wrapped around her and she’s pulled back against the tall, hard body of her assailant, feeling his hot breath on her neck.

Recalling what Jensen’s taught her about self-defense, she doesn’t attempt to wriggle free out of the bear hug and instead drops her weight, sliding down and driving her elbow into the general direction of the assailant’s groin.

She’s rewarded with a surprised, pained yelp and takes the chance to move away, out of his reach, and only then does she look at him. “ _Jensen?_ ”

Her brother doesn’t respond, bent over and clutching at his crotch, looking absolutely wretched and making small, miserable noises.

Mackenzie comes closer but doesn’t reach out to touch him, not sure what the right procedure for this is, and so she just kind of hovers near him and waits. “Jensen?”

After a while of more loud, pained breathing, he rests his hands on his knees and raises his head a bit to blink at her through his tears. “Shit, Kenzie,” he wheezes, “you really pull no punches.”

“I’m sorry…”

Pushing her hand away when she tries to help him, Jensen hobbles towards one of the chairs and sits down heavily. “Don’t be, you did good. Pretty fast reaction.” He straightens up and takes a deep breath, and Mackenzie watches as color slowly returns to his face. “If this was a real situation though, you should’ve followed up with grabbing my head and smashing it into your knee while I was still out of it.”

Encouraged now that she can see she didn't cause any permanent damage and Jensen is getting better, Mackenzie takes the other chair. “I thought you said as soon as I get free I’m supposed to run?”

“Yeah, but that only works if there’s somewhere you can run to,” he waves his hand around the small room with one narrow window. “Not really applicable here. The only exit is through the door, and I was standing in front of it, so you needed to take me out in order to get away.”

It makes sense, but Mackenzie isn’t sure she’d be able to take all that into consideration and act accordingly quickly enough, even after the weeks of training Jensen’s tried to drill into her. But at least she’s past listening to her first instinct to flail and struggle mindlessly, which – as Jensen’s demonstrated to her repeatedly – doesn’t really work that well.

Some of the disappointment and insecurity must show on her face because Jensen’s slightly reproachful expression immediately softens. “Hey, it’s perfectly normal that it takes time before your reactions become fully automatic and instinctual. And I’m not exactly the best teacher either,” he adds self-critically.

“Yes, you are.” And he is, considering that he’s practically as new to this as Mackenzie is. Jensen’s been trained for hand-to-hand combat between men, between _soldiers_ , so trying to come up with the best self-defense moves for a girl can’t be easy for him. “So why don't we just say we’re _both_ doing pretty good and leave it at that, huh?”

He raises one eyebrow. “Are you getting cocky on me, sis?”

“Well, I got you, didn’t I?”

He nods, smiling. “You sure did.”

She loves seeing that smile – it’s one of those small, sweet, almost shy smiles that show mainly in the crinkles around his eyes, one that almost nobody gets to see. Come to think of it, now that everyone Jensen’s ever loved is gone, Mackenzie is probably the only one who gets to see it, and just like that she feels her own smile disappear.

Jensen doesn’t miss the mood swing but he doesn’t comment on it, just reaches out to cover Mackenzie’s hand with his own. They’re both already used to this – one moment they’re fine, all worries and troubles forgotten, and the next moment something reminds them of where they are, _who_ they are now, and all the misery rushes right back.

“So, how was your day?” Jensen asks in a painfully obvious attempt at distraction which Mackenzie nevertheless accepts gratefully, describing today’s events in great detail even though every day is the same for her, nothing ever changes. Jensen listens attentively and with much more interest than anyone in their right mind should show in needlework and embroidery. Then it’s his turn to tell her about the slow, laborious process of digging a new well in the courtyard, and Mackenzie listens just as closely as he did.

They continue talking, but as it gets darker outside, night falling upon the City, a subtle yet detectable change occurs in Jensen’s behavior – it’s like watching the life seeping out of him, drop by drop. He still talks and listens, smiles and nods, but behind all that he’s closing off, steeling himself for what’s to come. Mackenzie isn’t sure he’s even aware of doing it, but he does it every night as the time for him to go to Jared approaches.

When that time comes – signaled by a slave guardsman walking in, informing Jensen that Master Jared will see him now – it’s almost a relief, for both Jensen and Mackenzie.

Once she’s left alone though, it becomes much harder to ignore the oppressive, claustrophobic atmosphere of the small, darkened room; the grim thoughts that Mackenzie manages to keep at bay during the day creeping out of the shadowy corners like hyenas. She can’t face them like this, alone, so she does the same thing she does every night – she returns back to the dining room, now full of slaves, laughing and chatting, some of them singing, some playing dice or cards, but all of them welcoming her with sincere, hearty kindness.

It still amazes Mackenzie how warm and friendly they turned out to be once they accepted her and Jensen into their tight-knit community. Gone is the robotic, indifferent behavior that these men and women show to the outside world. They may act like mindless, obedient tools in public, but here and now they're people, and just the fact that they haven't entirely forgotten their humanity as Mackenzie originally presumed gives her hope that not all is lost, even if she and Jensen never manage to free themselves again. Which is a possibility she's slowly coming to terms with, although she hasn't mentioned it to Jensen yet.

“Mackenzie! Come sit with us,” Alona calls her over cheerfully, patting the empty space on the bench next to her, and just as soon as Mackenzie sits down, she’s pulled into a hug by the tiny blonde.

“What’s up with her?” Another blonde woman, Mackenzie recalls her name is Katherine, asks. She’s one of the pleasure slaves so Mackenzie hasn’t really gotten to know her as well as those who work with her on a daily basis.

Alona rubs Mackenzie's back comfortingly. “She still feels bad every night when her brother goes to service Master Jared.”

Katherine’s expression remains uncomprehending. “Why?”

“Why?” Now it’s Mackenzie’s turn to be baffled. “What do you mean, _why_? How can you even ask that?”

Katherine shrugs, unfazed by Mackenzie’s little outburst. “Master Jared takes pride in being a passionate, attentive lover; he likes to give pleasure as much as he likes to receive it. The only reason anyone should be upset about this is jealousy. I mean, ever since that pretty brother of yours got here, I haven’t been asked to attend to Master Jared’s needs, not once.” Her nose scrunches up as she scowls. “And I used to be one of his favorites.”

Gasping for breath in surprise at what she’s hearing, Mackenzie turns to Alona and Samantha, looking for some kind of support, but all she sees on their faces is honest confusion. “You seriously think this is alright? That someone can get away with treating you like that? Like you're a... a banquet and Jared can just choose whatever he wants, whenever he wants it?”

"Our Master can treat us any way he wants," Alona says. “We’re slaves.”

“Yes, but don’t you wish you were free?”

“We’re slaves,” Alona repeats patiently as if that explains everything, Samantha and Katherine nodding in agreement.

Mackenzie could try to argue with them, but frankly she doesn’t have the heart to bring them out of their blissful ignorance, they seem content as they are. Besides, they probably wouldn’t understand her standpoint anyway. How do you explain freedom to someone who doesn’t even know they’re behind bars? “Just… forget it.”

They shrug and move to other, safer topics. It’s a far cry from the witty conversations Mackenzie used to engage in back home at the royal court, but she lets herself get lost in the chatter anyway, the jokes and gossips and songs keeping the hyenas away.

*

Jensen returns to their room maybe half an hour after Mackenzie does, which is a bit unusual because normally he’s back sooner than that, but she doesn’t ask why that is. He wouldn’t give her an answer, and she’s not sure she’d want to hear it even if he did.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m fine.”

Now that their customary post-Jared conversation is over, Mackenzie lifts up the covers and waits for Jensen to slide into the bed next to her. He always washes himself before coming here so he’s still a bit cold to touch, but he never stays cold for long, and soon after she lays her head on his shoulder, the sounds of Jensen’s even, regular breathing lull her to sleep.

  

***

 

Unlike the slaves’ quarters, which are on the first floor and poorly lit, the workroom is on the southern side of the building, up on the topmost floor, with large windows so enough light can pour in and Mackenzie, Samantha and Alona can see what they’re doing.

The abundance of light is mostly welcome, but as the day progresses and heat starts rising off the paved streets below, the air inside gets extremely dry and hot.

Completely absorbed in her work and momentarily forgetting her place, Mackenzie licks her slightly chapped lips and opens her parched mouth to tell one of her handmaidens to go fetch her a glass of cool water. Luckily she stops herself from saying it out loud at the last moment and saves herself the embarrassment. The last time she did something like that, Alona kept making fun of her and calling her _Your Highness_ for days.

It’s funny, how old habits die hard.

She grimaces and continues working.

“We’re almost out of golden thread,” Samantha points out a while after that, holding up a nearly empty spool.

“Green too,” Alona adds.

Mackenzie puts down her needle and thread, standing up. “I’ll go get them. Anything else we need?”

“Chalk,” Alona says after looking over the various tools and supplies laid out on the desk before her. Currently, they’re embroidering large, ruby red banners with the Padalecki family coat of arms for the big parade that’s coming in a few weeks, as one of the slaves working at the butler’s office overheard yesterday. “Beeswax. You know where they are?”

“You showed me the last time.”

Mackenzie slips outside the workroom and hurries through the corridor, past the ever-present guards that watch her with bored expressions, and down the narrow flight of stairs that leads to the storerooms. She quickly throws the supplies into a hand basket and then she’s hurrying back. She needed a bit of time alone, but she doesn’t want Alona and Samantha to think she’s slacking off. She's not some delicate, pampered princess. Not anymore, anyway.

When she reaches the base of the staircase, she nearly runs into a man she doesn’t recognize. Offering a muttered apology, she tries to go around him, but he steps to the side, blocking her way. “What’s the rush, darling?”

Mackenzie freezes, contemplates her options. Is he a threat? Should she run?

The man chuckles. It doesn’t sound particularly ominous. “Cat got your tongue?”

Flicking her eyes towards the guardsman who stands a little further down the hallway, looking unworried, Mackenzie decides that this means this man – whoever he is – is not an intruder here, so she takes a moment to inspect him more closely.

She doesn’t need to look at his tattoo-less neck to know that he’s a free, rich man – the quality of his attire speaks for itself. But there’s something else about him, something markedly familiar. It’s the way he holds himself, tall and proud, taking up more space than he should, an air of confident authority around him, that reminds her of Jensen, or Jared. This man is a soldier, an officer.

He studies her curiously, probably waiting for her to drop a curtsy. Well, unless he outright tells her to do it, he’s going to have to wait a long time.

The trouble is, he seems to be just fine with that, judging by the way he just stands there patiently, watching her.

“Can I help you? You seem a bit lost.” She asks in a polite tone, but the question itself is more of a provocation – this part of the Padalecki mansion is used by slaves only, so there’s practically no way he could’ve just accidentally strayed so far from the representative wing. If he’s here, he wanted to be here.

He doesn’t look offended, though. Actually, he winks at her, slow and deliberate. “Well, I sure am lost now... Lost in your beauty.”

That must be one of the cheesiest, lamest attempts at a compliment Mackenzie’s ever heard – and being the single daughter of a king, she’s heard _plenty_ – so she doesn’t quite manage to conceal her amusement.

He huffs softly. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad!”

At loss as to how to respond, Mackenzie just shrugs.

“Huh. You’re not that good at being a properly respectful slave, are you?”

Mackenzie knows what she’s expected to say to that, and she knows what she’d _like_ to say, but since the first choice sticks in her throat and the second might put her throat in danger, she opts for silence.

He leans towards her, his intelligent blue eyes boring into hers. “I asked you a question, and I’d like to hear your answer. And feel free to speak your mind.”

If he wanted to report her for her behavior, he could’ve done it already, so she decides to answer honestly. “Well, I have no problem with showing respect. But see, respect can’t be bought, and it can't be born out of fear; it has to be earned. You haven’t exactly done anything to earn mine so far.”

The man’s reaction catches her completely off-guard: he bursts into laughter. It’s strangely contagious and she finds herself smiling, the corners of her lips curving upwards of their own volition.

“Oh, Mackenzie Ackles,” he sighs when he’s done laughing as he runs one hand through his spiky blond hair and then down his scruffy face to compose himself. “You really are a handful.”  He gives her another mischievous wink and accompanies it with a perfectly executed low bow, complete with one hand laid over his heart. “And you’ve certainly earned my respect.”

With that, he leaves, striding through the narrow corridor leading to the representative wing, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silence and his laughter echoing in Mackenzie’s head long after he’s gone.

And how did he know who she was?

 

***

 

“Master Jared will dine with both of you tonight,” the guard intones flatly that night, addressing both Jensen and Mackenzie without actually looking at either of them.

They exchange surprised, disconcerted looks; Jared hasn’t asked to see Mackenzie since that one time almost a month ago and the fact that he wants to now can’t possibly mean anything good. Still, they don’t really have any other choice but to do as they’re told, so Jensen shrugs and heads out, Mackenzie following right behind him.

As they walk, Jensen looks over his shoulder to give Mackenzie an encouraging smile of the _I won’t let anything bad happen to you_ variety, and he actually manages to make it rather convincing; the only thing undermining the reliability of his claim is the anticipatory tension in his shoulders. He’s already expecting trouble and he’s getting ready for another battle. Hopefully that battle will never come.

Jared is waiting for them in the hallway outside the large dining room, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, long legs crossed and thumbs hooked in the loops of his belt. When he sees them coming, he pushes himself off the wall and goes to meet them halfway. “Ah, here you are,” he welcomes them warmly, as if they were friends that he invited for dinner. “Good, it would be a shame to let the food get cold.”

Mackenzie does her best not to react when Jared wraps one arm around Jensen’s waist to pull him closer, keeping his hand low on his hip as they cover the rest of the distance into the spacious dining room. But it’s so difficult for her to watch, especially since Jensen lets Jared maneuver him so obediently, nothing except one very brief flash of irritation showing that he is anything less than a willing participant in the seemingly casual – yet surely completely deliberate – show of affection.

“Please, sit,” Jared tells them and gives Jensen a push towards one of the chairs.

They don’t speak while they eat. Mackenzie keeps her head down, focusing strictly on the food on her plate. It’s delicious, reminding her of the sumptuous dinners back home, but despite that she feels horribly out of place. She and Jensen should be downstairs in the slaves’ dining room, sitting on the wooden bench and eating oatmeal or mashed potatoes with the others, not here in the cushioned seats, eating a six-course meal and drinking excellent wine.

For some reason, Jared’s not treating them like furniture like he does with all other slaves, but like actual _people_ , even though his approach is still highly questionable to say the least. In any case, it’s completely unfair to the others and Mackenzie feels like a traitor for being given such privileges when there are countless others who fare so much worse.

“Is something wrong, Mackenzie?” Jared’s voice brings her out of her thoughts and she looks up, flinching when she sees that while she was lost in thought contemplating the matters of relativity and inequity, Jared’s moved his chair so that he’s sitting right next to Jensen. He keeps one arm slung over Jensen’s shoulders as he forks various pieces of food, sometimes bringing his fork to Jensen’s mouth instead, and every time he does that, Jensen glares at the offending piece of cutlery but dutifully opens his mouth and eats every bite.

“Mackenzie?” Jared prompts, regarding her expectantly, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

He asked her a question, she remembers. “No, nothing’s wrong,” she replies, keeping her gaze firmly locked with his so she doesn’t have to watch Jared’s hand sliding underneath the open collar of Jensen’s shirt, so she doesn’t have to watch Jensen going rigid and tense as that hand does something she doesn’t even want to identify. But she's still acutely aware of it happening, and so she finds it impossible to resist adding caustically, “I mean, why would I even think something’s wrong, right?”

It seems that her cheekiness is very popular today, because Jared’s smirk grows into a wide, dimpled grin that would be absolutely charming on anyone else. “I knew you’d say something like that. You and your brother just never disappoint.” He says it almost fondly, like he’s proud of them. “In fact, that’s kind of why I wanted to see you tonight.”

“Yes, I figured this wasn’t just a friendly chat.” Mackenzie can’t help growing agitated despite Jared’s charming smile. Or maybe because of it. “After all, you need _friends_ for those, not _slaves_.”

Jared’s smile disappears, his expression hardening, but at least he finally takes his hand off Jensen. “Careful. My indulgence has its limits.”

Jensen snorts at that. He looks a bit less like a statue now that Jared isn’t touching him anymore, sitting a little straighter. “Just tell us what you want from us.”

Taking a sip of his wine, Jared turns his attention to Mackenzie. “This actually concerns mainly you.”

Although Jared doesn’t say it in a threatening manner at all, cold trepidation immediately settles in Mackenzie’s bones and she can see the same emotion written all over Jensen’s face. He’s never been good at hiding concern or fear when it comes to those he loves. It’s his greatest weakness, it makes him vulnerable, and Jared’s been using that vulnerability against him right from the beginning.

“What do you want from her?” Jensen asks, taking over the conversation in Mackenzie’s place, protective big brother back in full swing.

Jared puts down his wine glass. “A good friend of mine has expressed interest in meeting her.”

The implications of that simple statement haven’t even sunk in yet for Mackenzie but Jensen’s already reacting. He knocks his chair down as he stands abruptly, and his fist is flying through the air, connecting with Jared’s jaw and sending the man sprawling to the ground. “You fucking liar! You promised you’d leave her alone!” He lands one more solid, hard punch and then Jared starts fighting back at the same time as two guardsmen run into the room, their swords drawn.

“Get her!” Jared orders and they do, so Mackenzie can only watch as Jared kicks out with his legs, hitting Jensen in the knee and eliciting a pained grunt. Then he jumps to his feet, blocking all of Jensen’s blows but not attempting to hand out any of his own. “Jensen! That’s enough!”

Out of his mind with fury, Jensen only drops his fighting stance when Mackenzie calls his name and he sees the blade of a sword pressing against her neck. He raises his hands above his head instantly, palms out, eyes jumping from Mackenzie to Jared. “Alright, fine, I’m calm now.” When that brigs no improvement, he speaks again, urgency creeping into his voice. “I get it, alright? I’ll be good.”

“Let her go,” Jared orders the guards, holding Jensen’s gaze. Mackenzie relaxes slightly when the blade is taken off her neck, but she’s shaking all over, heart hammering loudly in her chest even though she’s still sitting in her chair, not having moved at all.

Jared speaks again, addressing the guards. “Leave us alone.”

They go, closing the door behind them. Jared brings up one hand to his lips and looks at the blood that stains his fingers. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“You shouldn’t have broken your word.” Jensen practically radiates furious, barely contained energy, still looking like he’s only a hair’s breadth away from exploding again, but all three of them know that he won’t.

“And what makes you think I have?”

Some of the hatred on Jensen’s face is replaced with confusion. “Huh?”

“Why do you think I asked you to be here? I’m not doing this behind your back, Jensen. I wanted to tell you–“

“That you’re gonna let one of your sick buddies rape my sister,” Jensen sneers. “Well, excuse me for not bubbling with joy.”

From where she’s sitting, Mackenzie can see both men only in profile, but even like this she could swear that Jared looks almost hurt by Jensen’s scorn. “I wasn’t going to say anything like that. Chad asked me to let him spend some time with your sister, nothing more, and I was going to tell you both so you knew about it in advance.” He pauses, licks his bleeding lip, shakes his head. “You and I had a deal, Jensen, and I was going to honor it. But now you’ve gone and broken it yourself, in the worst way possible. Laying your hand on your master, drawing blood…” He clucks his tongue. “Aside from murder, this is the gravest crime a slave can commit.”

Just like before, Jensen comprehends the implications of that statement before Mackenzie does. “Whatever the punishment, I’ll take it,” he says hastily, throwing one quick glance at her and then turning back to Jared. “Just leave her out of it. Please. _Please_.”

“Yes, I could do that,” Jared agrees. “The suitable punishment would be five hundred lashes and cutting off the hand that spilled my blood.”

Mackenzie feels like fainting just from hearing the words and she opens her mouth to protest, to beg and plead for Jared’s mercy if need be, but no sound comes out and she just watches, paralyzed with dread, as Jensen gives a short, accepting nod. This can’t be happening.

“But then, what would I do with a mutilated, disfigured pleasure slave?” Jared continues, his tone contemplative. He bends to pick up his overturned chair and sits down, facing Jensen and keeping the table and Mackenzie to his right. “It would be a shame to let something as beautiful as you go to waste, especially since I'm not done with you yet, not nearly. So, I’m willing to let this… incident pass, pretend this didn’t happen. I’ll even keep honoring our deal, because unlike you I am a man of my word.”

That kind of generosity doesn’t make any sense, and the siblings wait for the “but” that must inevitably come, some kind of a condition that will turn this seemingly kind offer into a nightmare.

“You look shocked,” Jared observes and gives a strangely bitter laugh. “Frankly, even I am a little surprised by my own benevolence. Maybe I’m not the heartless barbarian you take me for. Maybe I understand that the desire to protect those you love can cloud your judgment, and maybe I can relate to that, even respect it. That’s why I’ll let this go. But don’t expect any more favors from me. The next time either of you displeases me I will show no mercy.”

Jensen studies Jared’s face carefully, looking for any sign of foul play, but he must’ve found none because after a long stretch of silence, he bows his head low. “I… Thank you.”

Even as she feels shame burning hot in her cheeks, Mackenzie follows suit with her own words of thanks. Saying this was a close call would be a colossal understatement, and even though she still can’t figure out Jared’s reasons for being so forgiving, this is not the time to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Jared laughs. “Just when I thought I’d never hear those words from you two. I don’t think words will do in this case though, not after I just did you such a great favor. Jensen, why don’t you use your mouth to thank me properly?” He spreads his legs wide, leaving no doubt as to what he has in mind. So _this_ is the catch they've been waiting for.

Jensen’s eyes flick to Mackenzie. “Now?”

“Yes, now.” Jared’s voice is hard, uncompromising. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t planning on doing this, but I think this might prove to be very useful and educational for all of us. It’s time to finally make things perfectly clear between us, make sure everyone knows their place in this.”

“But–“

“ _Jensen_. I said now.”

The quick look Jensen gives Mackenzie says _I’m sorry_ and _forgive me_ and _there’s no other choice_ all at once, and right after that his face shuts down, becomes completely unreadable, and then he’s moving forwards and down, kneeling at Jared’s feet.

“Good boy,” Jared runs one hand through Jensen’s hair as he turns to Mackenzie. “Come closer, Mackenzie. I want you to have a good view of what’s happening.”

She feels like walking to the gallows as she pushes herself to weak, wobbly legs and goes around the table. She’s shaking so hard she has to support herself with one hand on the table edge so she doesn’t fall down.

“That’s good, stay there,” Jared stops her. “And don’t you dare look away, I won’t tolerate any disobedience. You understand?” She nods, not daring to anger him further, and he gives a satisfied smile. “Good. Now Jensen, show your sister how a good slave treats his master.”

Nausea swells in Mackenzie’s stomach as she watches her brother undo Jared’s pants and take out his cock. It’s not hard like she expected, which might support Jared’s claim that he really wasn’t intending to do this, that he's really only doing it as some kind of a twisted lesson about dominance and power. Not that it matters.

It gets even worse when Jensen bends down to lick a long stripe up Jared’s rapidly hardening flesh. Mackenzie’s not supposed to see this. Jensen’s not supposed to be seen like this. It’s not even supposed to be _happening_ at all. She wants to look away but she knows she can’t, she’ll have to stay here, gripping the tabletop behind her so her knees don’t give under her, and watch whatever Jared wants to show her.

Once she realizes that, something in her brain snaps, or maybe switches off, and she watches the events unfold before her without feeling a thing, her mind fully present but her emotions gone. She’s like a detached, uninterested observer, taking note of the things she sees without differentiating between them. The information that Jared’s erection is extremely long and thick, stretching Jensen’s lips wide, holds the same value as the information that there’s a missing button on Jensen’s shirt that needs fixing or the information that Jared’s belt buckle has the same coat of arms engraved on it as the one Mackenzie was embroidering earlier today.

Minutes tick by and Jared becomes more enthusiastic, grabbing Jensen’s head and holding it in place with large hands as he snaps his hips up, forcing his cock deep into Jensen’s mouth with increasing pace and roughness, Jensen breathing loudly through his nose but taking it without choking, without betraying any discomfort. They must’ve done this many times for him to get so accustomed to having something that big in his mouth, Mackenzie wonders distantly and follows that thought with a quick calculation of how many nights Jared and Jensen spent together so far, how many opportunities Jensen’s had to practice.

When Jared’s movements get even more forceful and erratic and his grunts grow louder and unrestrained, Mackenzie knows he’s going to climax soon, and a few moments later he does, pulling out of Jensen’s mouth right in time to let thick, long ropes of semen land all over his upturned face. Jared sinks back into his chair after that with a deep, long sigh, his posture loose and relaxed, watching Jensen with a satisfied smile.

“Good boy,” he praises Jensen again, like he’d praise a dog for a executing a difficult trick, and for some reason that’s the moment when the switch in Mackenzie’s head flips again and suddenly her emotions are back. Not disgust or despair or anguish though, not yet, although those will definitely come later – but now there’s only ice-cold, concentrated rage that she manages to control just barely, and just so Jensen’s sacrifice doesn’t go in vain.

Jared glances at her to make sure that she’s still watching and his smirk takes a devious turn as he brings up the fingers of one hand to Jensen’s face, running them through the pearly come and scooping it up. “Lick,” he orders and Jensen opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, laps the fluid up dutifully like the well-trained dog Jared apparently wants him to be. The action is repeated until Jensen’s face is clean, and Jared gives him a pat on the cheek. “Get up.”

While Jensen rises to his feet, Jared tucks himself back into his pants, still sprawled in the chair and all attention on Jensen. “It may not feel like it right now, but I let you get off very lightly, Jensen. I want you to remember that.”

Jensen swallows uneasily and bows his head once more, and when Jared directs his gaze to Mackenzie next, she ignores the loud protesting voice in her head and follows her brother’s example. There's no point in making this any worse than it already is.

“I don’t think any of us feel like finishing the dinner right now. You can go,” Jared waves his hand towards the door, but speaks again before they can actually leave. “And Mackenzie, you’re still going to meet my friend Chad. Tomorrow afternoon. I expect you to behave. _Both_ of you.”

Jensen tenses but doesn’t respond, so Mackenzie quickly speaks for both of them, pride forcing her to keep her voice strong and unwavering: “We will.” Because this isn’t over, this isn’t defeat. Just like Jensen repeatedly said to her during their training, it isn’t over as long as you’re still fighting.

“Excellent. Now go.”

They go.

They pass through the palace in silence, which would be perfectly understandable if Jensen at least looked at Mackenzie once to see if she’s okay, to show her that he’s okay. But he doesn’t; he just walks stiffly and stares straight ahead with dead eyes, still the same lifeless mechanical doll that took Jared’s abuse without a twitch, without a single sign of protest.

When they get back to the slaves’ quarters, Jensen doesn’t take the turn that leads to their room, instead walking right on by.

“Jensen?” Mackenzie calls out, relieved when he stops and turns to look at her, the first indication he’s given that he’s even aware of her presence. “Where are you going?”

“I need to…” He pauses, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he clenches his teeth. He doesn’t speak again, just waves his hand, pointing down the corridor where the bathrooms are, and Mackenzie wants to smack herself for being so slow-witted.

“Oh. Sure, of course,” she says quickly and he averts his gaze, hiding back in the shadows where the light of the oil lamps can’t reach his face, but not before she catches a glimpse of wetness glimmering in his eyes. And even the convenient gloom can’t conceal the tremble in his lower lip, the slouch of his normally squared shoulders, the way he’s digging his fingernails into the meat of his palms.

He’s managed to maintain his distance from what's been done to him throughout the whole debasing act, probably by disassociating himself from it just like Mackenzie did, but now that it’s over and they’re alone, it’s suddenly strikingly clear that he’s starting to fall apart. Mackenzie can practically hear the seams that hold him together popping one by one, and there's no doubt things are going to get really bad once the last one pops.

She wants to be there for Jensen when that moment comes, but she understand that he can’t let her see it, he has to hold onto that last shred of dignity he still has. Whatever he has to do to rebuild his walls once they crumble, he has to do it alone, on his own, without her watching.

“I’ll just… wait in our room,” she blurts out and as soon as he nods and starts walking again, she turns around and walks the other way.

Once inside, she sits down on the bed, cold, shaky hands folded in her lap, and concentrates on her breathing, in and out, slow and steady, _just keep it together, girl_.

Jensen’s back sooner than she expected, slipping inside room but staying by the door, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to come in.

“Jensen?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely a broken whisper but still so much emotion. “Kenzie, I’m so sorry.”

She wants to yell at him, tell him that he has nothing to be sorry about, that he shouldn’t apologize for protecting her at all cost, for being so strong and keeping her safe. He won’t believe her though, not now. He thinks he’s failed her, he surely thinks he disgusts her too after what she’s seen; he probably thinks she’d be better off without him.

Mackenzie only comes up with one way to fix that, to show him how completely wrong he is – she lets the night’s events get to her, opens her mind and heart to them and lets them hit her full force, let the tears and loud, uncontrollable sobs come. And just like she knew he would, Jensen is by her side in an instant, pulling her into a hug, arms tightly wound around her in a protective, warm embrace, rocking her gently and whispering words of comfort into her ear.

She lets him take care of her, lets him hold her long after all her sobs die down and her eyes run dry, lets herself be weak for him so he can be strong for her.

And if Jensen clutches onto Mackenzie a little tighter than he usually does once they lie down to sleep, nestled together on the one bed... Well, it can be their little secret.


	5. Chapter 5

There and back again, Jensen paces, too restless to stay still even though his entire body aches from another long, tiresome day of digging the new well in the courtyard. They worked hard today, him and Ty and Chris, and as soon as they were done Jensen rushed to wash the sweat and dirt off before bolting down his dinner and hurrying back to his room in hope that Mackenzie would already be there.

But she’s not, which means she’s still with Chad, that mysterious friend of Jared’s, and only gods know what’s happening to her now. It can’t possibly be a good sign that she’s gone for so long – although Jensen actually has no idea for how long she’s been there because he didn’t see her leave; he was too busy outside waving a shovel, the weight of his worry for Mackenzie sitting like a stone in his stomach and getting heavier by the minute.

He throws a nervous quick glance outside through the narrow window, noting that darkness is already creeping in from the corners, shadows growing longer as the sun slowly disappears behind the countless rooftops of the City. Jensen’s running out of time, one of Jared’s guards will come pick him up soon, and if Mackenzie isn’t back by then to confirm that she’s unharmed, Jensen will probably go mad with fear and do something stupid and irresponsible. Like at that disastrous dinner with Jared last night.

He’ll never forgive himself for what happened, for overreacting and putting his sister through something she never should’ve had to see, and he still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that Mackenzie apparently doesn’t feel the same way. She should be disgusted and disappointed and angry, but for some reason she’s not. She still let Jensen hold her as she cried last night, she still looked at him with trust and love this morning, touched his face with tenderness and concern that he doesn't deserve.

How she can do any of that after what she’d seen, how she can look at Jensen, let alone touch him, when he’s so filthy and soiled and so goddamn _useless_ , he has no idea. He feels humbled by the trust she still puts in him despite everything, and at the same time it makes him want to do everything in his power to  _earn_ that trust, to fix all the cracks in his armor, to be strong, to never let her down again.

Because she’s worth it, as she reminds him with every breath she takes, with every moment she simply is herself. Like today, right after she woke up, squinting at Jensen drowsily with heavy-lidded eyes, her hair almost golden and her cheeks pink from the chill morning air, beautiful and warm in Jensen’s arms, the little sister who means the world to him, who _is_ the world to him. She needs him to be alright so that's what he has to be.

The door opens and Mackenzie comes in, offering Jensen one of those warm, heart-warming smiles that give him more strength than she could ever know. “I hoped I’d catch you here. How are you?”

The answer to that is absolutely irrelevant, so Jensen chooses to ignore it and instead crosses the room, taking Mackenzie’s hands in his and dragging her to the window, into the quickly vanishing light so he can take a good look at her. He doesn’t see any visible injuries, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. The worst wounds are often on the inside. “How are you, how did the meeting go?”

Mackenzie blushes and lowers her eyes, strands of blonde hair obscuring her face from Jensen’s view, and doesn’t respond.

That can’t mean anything good and Jensen’s heartbeat picks up as all the scenarios of what could’ve possibly gone wrong play inside his head, one worse than the other. “Kenzie? What did he do?” He demands, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her until she reluctantly meets his gaze again. He’s not handling this very well, but he just has to know. “Kenzie, you gotta tell me.”

Mackenzie wrenches herself free of his grip. “Chad didn’t do anything to me, I promise.” And while Jensen thinks he can read her well enough to be able to tell she isn’t lying, there’s definitely something she’s hiding from him.

“Kenzie, come on, talk to me.”

She fidgets, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “We just… talked. Well, mostly he talked, because obviously he likes the sound of his own voice a little bit too much and he thinks he’s smart, which I’m sure he is, but he’s also really dorky, so…” As she speaks, the corners of her mouth curve upwards in a soft, fond smile, one that she probably isn’t even aware of. “You know, this actually wasn’t the first time I met him. It turns out he’s the soldier with lame pick-up lines I told you about yesterday.”

And Jensen realizes what it is that she’s trying to hide from him – she has a soft spot for this Chad guy and she actually had fun with him today. Which is a little disconcerting, considering Chad's power and position, but at the same time Jensen can't help feeling relieved. “Kenzie, that’s… that’s good!”

But her smile disappears as fast as it appeared; replaced by something that strikingly resembles guilt and anger. Anger turned inwards. “No, it isn’t.”

Jensen’s getting confused. He wishes Mom was here, she was always so much better than him at deciphering Mackenzie’s moods when it came to this kind of thing. “It isn’t?”

“No!” She practically shouts the word. “It’s not good at all! You tried to protect me from having to meet Chad, and now it turns out you didn’t even have to.” She makes an exasperated noise but won’t meet Jensen’s eyes when she mumbles: “It means that what Jared did to you last night, that was all for nothing.”

Jensen catches her flailing hands in his and takes a deep breath, stalling a little to collect his thoughts. He was kind of hoping they wouldn’t have to have this conversation today. “Listen, what happened with Jared...” He pauses; he can’t make himself say it was nothing.

“Yes?” Mackenzie’s eyebrows climb up her forehead as she watches him expectantly.

Brutal honesty seems like the best option here. “I’m sorry you had to be there and see it, but it wasn’t anything I’m not used to by now.” Jensen can feel his face heat up at the admission but carries on nevertheless. “I knew what I was signing up for when I closed that deal with him, and I made my peace with it.”

Hands on hips and eyes narrowed, Kenzie studies Jensen closely, the scrutiny making him want to squirm. “Did you?”

Fortunately Jensen is used to being glared at from his years of service, the experience definitely comes in handy now that he’s faced with the menace that is his sister. “Yes, I did,” he says firmly, willing himself to believe it so she can believe it too. He’s pleased to hear that his voice doesn’t tremble.

Mackenzie doesn’t look pleased though; in fact, Jensen’s answer only seems to rile her up more. “So Jared gets away with it? With everything he’s done to us, to you?” Leaning forward, she pokes a finger in the center of his chest. “He hurt you, and he needs to pay for that.”

Jensen throws up his hands. “How?”

“He has to die.” Mackenzie means what she says, there’s no doubt about that, and her cold, merciless tone sends chills down Jensen’s spine. She’s as fierce and passionate in hate as she is in love, a force to be reckoned with. “Jared lets his guard down when he’s with you, we’ve seen that last night, so you can take him by surprise, break his neck, stab him in the heart with his own dagger, whatever. I know you can do it.”

“Maybe I can,” Jensen agrees although he’s not really that sure. His sister evidently has much more confidence in him than he does. “But I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Just think, Kenzie!” Because this definitely isn’t the first time the idea of driving a blade through Jared’s heart has come to Jensen’s mind, not at all. “We’d have nowhere to run, we’d both get caught and be executed, or worse.”

She shrugs carelessly, unimpressed. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

“Well, I’m not!”

Mackenzie flinches when he yells at her, but she doesn’t back down, brave and stubborn like always. “I’m just saying–“

“I said no, dammit!” Jensen yells again, then closes his eyes for a moment, inhales, holds that breath, releases it slowly, trying to clamp down on the violent swell of emotions that threaten to overflow him. Apparently nothing motivates him to fight and live more than Mackenzie’s willingness to fight and die. “I’m not putting you in danger like that, so you can forget it. And I don’t want to hear about this ever again. Have I made myself clear?”

She scowls, looking like she’s going to start protesting again, but then her shoulders slump and she gives a small, barely perceptible nod.

That’s not nearly enough for Jensen though. He knows how single-minded and persistent Mackenzie can be, and while she’s not what you’d call a vindictive person, she is not always the sweet, soft-spoken girl people usually take her for either. Hell, she once admitted to still holding a childish grudge against Uncle Jim for that time he falsely accused her of breaking a decorative vase; she couldn’t have been more than five then. If she hasn’t forgotten something as petty as that, there’s no telling what she could do to someone like Jared.

“Mackenzie, I want you to promise me you won’t do anything that might give anyone a reason to hurt you. You’ll play nice and stay out of trouble, you hear me?”

She’s staring at the floor again, gnawing on her lip, stubbornly silent.

Jensen decides to try a different tactic – if appealing to Mackenzie’s sense of self-preservation doesn’t seem to do the trick, it’s time to appeal to her sense of duty. It usually works on him, so it’s at least worth a try. “Look, we’re the last two remaining members of the royal family. We have a responsibility to our people, we have to stay alive.”

She snorts, crossing her arms on her chest. “Why? So we can escape, free the Kingdom, retake the throne and live happily ever after? I'm not a child anymore, and this isn't a fairytale.”

“I know that, okay?” The scornful, caustic tone of Mackenzie’s voice, the way she readily dismissed the idea of things ever getting better, strangely mobilizes Jensen, makes him want to do anything it takes to prove her wrong. “Who knows, maybe we’ll never get free and maybe we will, but either way we can’t just give up, we can’t let them win. And you can’t just throw your life away for some stupid, reckless act of vengeance. Don’t you do that to yourself, to me. Please.”

Mackenzie nods again. “Fine.” She couldn’t be less enthusiastic about it, but at least she sounds sincere. “Fine, I promise”

“Thank you.” He reaches out, wants to hug her, but she pulls away, turning her back on him. She’s pissed at him, probably also disappointed in his reluctance to rebel, but at this point Jensen doesn’t care. She can stay mad at him for the rest of her life if she wants, only if that life is long and as happy as it can be.

“Look, I know this isn’t easy for you,” Jensen sets one hand on her shoulder gently and Mackenzie tenses but doesn’t move away, so he carries on. “I know that you feel like you have to _do something_ , but killing Jared isn’t the way, it wouldn’t solve anything in the big picture. He’s not really that important, and it would only worsen our situation.”

“So what do we do then?”

“We play nice and wait for our chance, and when it comes, we take it. How about that?”

“It does sound reasonable,” Mackenzie admits. He wishes he could see her face. 

“But?”

“But I just can’t stand the thought of him touching you like that again,” she mutters. “What he’s doing to you… when I think about that, I just…”

And no. They’re not talking about this again. “Then stop thinking about it.”

Mackenzie finally turns back to Jensen and gives him a look that is both incredulous and reproachful at the same time. “Jensen, this might just be the most stupid piece of advice I’ve ever heard.”

“Even more stupid than–“

“Yes.”

Why does she have to be so difficult? Arguing with her is more exhausing than a day-long march in full combat gear. “Kenzie, just let it go, okay? Don’t make it any harder than it has to be. It happened, it’s going to happen again because I’m going to keep _letting_ it happen, and that’s all there is to it. So just let it go.”

Mackenzie opens her mouth, then shuts it, subjects Jensen to another of her searching, soul-piercing gazes. She’s getting really good at those, scarily so. “I don’t think this attitude is going to work in the long run, Jensen,” she says finally, shaking her head.

“It is.” He puts all the conviction he has into his voice and when that isn’t nearly enough, he simply fakes the rest. “Trust me, it’s going to work just fine.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Sure I am.”

In the half-light of the room, Mackenzie’s annoyed eyeroll is more audible thanks to the sigh that accompanies it than visible, and Jensen realizes how late it is. The guardsman who comes to pick him up will be here any minute now. “We don’t have time for this now, I’ll have to go soon, so why don’t you go to the dining room, hang around with the others, let them take your mind off things?”

“I’d like to see them try,” she says sulkily, pouting and effectively going from authoritative and scary to an adorable little girl. Gods, Jensen loves her so much.

“Come on, it’ll be great,” he masks his smile by kissing the top of her head. “Alona and Samantha will take care of you, and if that doesn’t work then there’s always that funny short guy, the one whose jokes made you laugh so hard you nearly choked the other day…” He searches his memory quickly; he’s never been that good with names and this household is too full of slaves for him to remember them all.

“Richard,” Mackenzie supplies helpfully and gives Jensen a stern look before nodding. “Alright, I’ll go. But don’t you think this conversation is over. I’ll be watching you.”

“I know you will.” He gives her a gentle push towards the door. “Have fun. And stop worrying about me.”

“Dream on!” She smiles, but there’s concern underneath that, and Jensen knows that concern is justified, which makes it harder to smile back.

He’s only given a few minutes alone before the guardsman comes, announcing that Master Jared will see Jensen now, but that’s alright. The less time Jensen has to think and process, the easier it is for him to just go through things without really acknowledging them, without making them _real_. If he just keeps moving, keeps going, then all the wolves that are hot on his heels will never catch up with him.

Except when the biggest wolf of them all asks Jensen to roll over and bare his throat and Jensen does just that.

“Jensen,” the metaphorical wolf says, lying stretched on the bed; naked, flaunting strong, impressive muscles under miles of tanned skin, and one hand wrapped around his hard cock, stroking it leisurely. Relaxed but alert, casually dangerous. “Come join me.”

Since Jared’s made it clear before that he likes it when Jensen strips slowly, Jensen naturally sheds his clothes as quickly as possible just to spite the other man, because as long as he’s not given a direct order, he’ll always put up some kind of resistance, simply on principle. It’s almost automatic.

Jared doesn’t seem to mind this time though, smirking and licking his lips as he watches Jensen with open hunger. “I only went one day without seeing the entire package and I’ve already missed this so much.” He pats the bed in invitation. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me if I get a little impatient.”

Jensen makes a sour face at the mockery of politeness as he climbs on the bed, following Jared’s nonverbal directions until he ends up lying on his back, legs spread apart and bent at the knees. At least Jared’s eagerness could mean this will be over quickly, fast and rough, with a bit of luck even painful, which is definitely more tolerable than the alternative.

But apparently Jensen’s not that lucky tonight, because instead of getting straight to the main event, Jared slicks up his fingers, kneels between Jensen’s legs and starts to work Jensen open with careful patience that contradicts his earlier words. He still does it most of the time, which is weird because Jensen’s learned that the standard protocol demands that the pleasure slaves are prepared _before_ going to their masters. It’s probably just one more way of messing with Jensen’s head, this fake, almost gentle care.

“So, how was Mackenzie’s date with Chad?” Jared asks, his tone light and conversational as if he’s talking to a friend over a glass of wine and not currently pushing one long finger past Jensen’s rim. “Was it a traumatizing experience that scarred her for the rest of her life?” His smug, amused smirk makes it obvious that he already knows the answer.

“No,” Jensen admits reluctantly, refusing to give Jared anything more.

“I told you she’d be fine.” A second finger joins the first one but Jared isn’t looking there, his eyes rest on Jensen’s face. “I gave you my word that she’d be safe and unharmed as long as you behaved, and you didn’t believe me. You continue to treat me as if I was beneath you, as if I had no honor at all, and you always act surprised when my actions prove the opposite. It would be much easier for you if you finally accepted the fact that I do keep my word.”

Jensen bites on his lip, clutching at the sheets beneath his hands when Jared’s fingers brush against his prostate, sending sparks of unwelcome pleasure through him. Desperately wanting to ignore what those fingers are doing to him, he focuses all his attention on the conversation. “You certainly care about your reputation a lot. Why, do you want me to commend you for not being a liar on top of being a tyrant and a rapist?”

Jared’s expression hardens, darkness flashing across his face, but those fingers inside Jensen are still far too gentle for Jensen’s liking. He’s not rising to the bait. “I am not a rapist,” he says almost indignantly, dead serious and without doubt believing every word. “I don’t just take _anything_ I want; I only take what is rightfully mine. And you _are_ mine.”

“Only because your society enslaves people,” Jensen snarls, concentrating on the anger inside him, not on the fingers, not the fingers.

“Yes, we do that,” Jared agrees with careless ease. “The rules are simple. You commit treason, you become a slave. You fall into debt, you become a slave. You lose a war, you become a slave.” Third finger now, not that Jensen’s counting or even paying attention. “You belong to me, Jensen; you don’t get to say no to anything I want from you. Your consent is unsubstantial, your opinion is irrelevant.”

“And even now, you’re contradicting yourself by trying to justify your actions to me.”

“You got me there.” Jared hides his irritation well, but not well enough – it’s in the tight line of his lips, in the narrow slits of his eyes. He shrugs with one shoulder. “Well, what can I say? You’re _special_. You’re smart. You help me stay sharp,” he runs the tip of his tongue over his bruised lip, split last night by Jensen’s fist, and grins like the devil himself. “And let’s not forget that you have the best ass I’ve ever had the chance to fuck.” He withdraws his fingers and reaches for the oil again. “Roll over.”

Finally. Jensen obeys almost eagerly, hands and knees, head down, thinking _come on, just do it, let’s get it over with already_.

Jared chuckles, a long line of heat behind Jensen. “Missed me so much?”

Jensen doesn’t respond and soon after that Jared’s pressing inside him, still so maddeningly slow and considerate and Jensen would just push back and impale himself on that huge cock in one go if he was certain Jared wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

“So perfectly tight,” Jared groans when he bottoms out. He squeezes Jensen’s cheeks with his large palms, then pulls the flesh apart. “So pretty, all pink and stretched so wide around me. You were born to do this, weren’t you?”

There is more but Jensen blocks it out, the filthy monologue blurring into background noise, the hands roaming over his body and the cock driving into him insignificant; it’s just his body, nothing more.

He begins to study the pattern on the pillow under him. It’s some kind of a floral design, with stems of various flowers intertwined and forming fairly intricate ornaments. Jensen even recognizes most of the flowers because these things are important; you had to know the language of flowers if you lived at the royal court. So this here is thistle and there’s dandelion and pansy, and the blue one is chicory… or is it cornflower? It has simple petals, so it should be–

“Jensen,” Jared’s admonishing voice rips through Jensen’s thoughts like a blade through paper, “I see I don’t have your full attention. Am I boring you?”

Now that his first line of defense is blown, Jensen resorts to sarcasm. “I’m not exactly ecstatic about this, no.” He realizes his mistake the instant the words leave his mouth, but by then it’s already too late. If it wasn’t too late already.

“Guess I’ll have to fix that,” Jared continues, his breath hot on the nape of Jensen’s neck as he drapes himself over Jensen, large and broad and heavy and oppressing, weight resting on one arm only because his right hand is sliding down Jensen’s belly now, lower and lower until his fingers curl around Jensen’s cock.

 _Please don’t_ , is what Jensen thinks but doesn’t bother saying out loud, partly out of pride but mainly because he knows his pleas will remain unheard anyway. Jared seldom contents himself with just his own pleasure and he doesn’t let himself be fooled by Jensen’s attempts at faking it either anymore, which effectively drives Jensen into a corner – nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jared whispers when Jensen’s cock starts to fill in his hand. His mouth is moving against the sensitive shell of Jensen’s ear, hot puffs of breath making Jensen shiver. It’s one of Jensen’s sweet spots and Jared knows that by now, he knows all of them, has dedicated long hours to finding them, exploring and experimenting, learning to play Jensen’s body like an extremely reluctant, unwilling yet ultimately defenseless instrument. “That’s it, let me make you feel good.”

But Jensen doesn’t want to feel good, not like this (maybe not ever again), and definitely not because of Jared, so he fights it tooth and nail even though he realizes he’s only making it worse for himself, prolonging the torment, delaying the inevitable. He can’t _not_ fight it – that would mean admitting defeat, and that’s unacceptable.

Jared wins, of course, wrings an orgasm out of Jensen against his will and only then does he let himself go too.

It doesn’t matter that Jared won though; it doesn’t matter at all as long as Jensen’s fighting.

Or at least that’s what Jensen tells himself, cheeks flushed with shame, eyes stinging with tears, his own come cooling on his side where Jared wiped it off his hand.

 

***

 

Jensen dumps the last shovel full of soil into the bucket, sets it aside and turns his face skywards to holler at Ty who’s peeking over the edge of the well’s opening. “Ready!”

Ty nods and gets to work. The pulley screeches, the rope tied to the filled bucket tightens before the bucket is lifted off and hoisted upwards slowly. Once it’s high enough that it doesn’t threaten to hit Jensen’s head, Jensen grabs the pickax and ignoring the loud protests of his weary muscles, raises his arms to break up the hard ground under his feet.

“Shit!”

That’s Ty’s voice, and before Jensen has a chance to react, the heavy bucket hits the ground right next to him with a loud thud, followed immediately by the sharp sound of the rope swishing by. When it lands, Jensen can see that its end is frayed, it must’ve snapped. It's only by sheer luck that Jensen is completely unharmed.

“Jensen! You okay?” Ty shouts, his voice shaking and eyes wide with fear, and Chris, whose head appears next to Ty’s, wears the same expression.

“I’m fine!” Jensen shouts, annoyed at the care. “The bucket’s cracked though,” he adds, squatting on his haunches to inspect the damage.

“Who gives a fuck about the bucket?” Chris asks. “Come on up, we need to see if you’re okay.”

“I already told you I am,” Jensen grumbles but stands up and starts to climb up the ladder. There’s no point arguing with these two until they see him with their own eyes, so once he reaches the surface, he just stands there, spreads his arms wide and patiently lets them fuss over him. “See? Not a scratch.”

“Thank gods,” Ty says, and both he and Chris relax visibly, tension leaving them and relief flooding their features now that they are sure no damage has been done to their Master’s favorite fucktoy. Because what a disaster would that be, right?

They’re both good guys, straightforward and friendly, but right now, at this moment, Jensen hates them with the passion of a thousand suns.

“It’s getting late, I’ll go get ready for my _other duties_ ,” he throws over one shoulder, already striding away.

They don’t try to stop him.

*

Jensen’s still seething with rage when he barges into the bathroom and strips off his sweat-soaked, dirty working clothes, but when he begins to wash his body with the cold water in the simple stony basin, the anger starts to leave him and by the time he’s clean and dried off, all he’s left with is the ever-present bone-deep – soul-deep – tiredness.

Naked, Jensen walks over to stand in front of the polished bronze mirror leaning against the wall by the window, a necessary tool for all the pleasure slaves when they’re preparing themselves to look presentable for their masters. They have to look their best, immaculate and unblemished for the viewing pleasure of those who own them.

Just like Jared owns Jensen.

You’d think it would be visible on the outside, but as Jensen studies his reflection, he can’t really see any changes save for the hated collar tattooed around his neck. Yes, he is a bit leaner than he used to be, but still strong and muscled from all the hard work… because Jared wants him that way. If Jared wanted him chubby, Jensen would be chubby. If Jared wanted him skinny, Jensen would be skinny.

He has no control over his own body anymore. Which is absurd, insane, impossible – and so very real.

Up until now, Jensen’s somehow managed to convince himself – or pretend convincingly, anyway – that the cost he’s paying for Mackenzie’s safety is acceptable, that since he’s doing it for the right reason, he can just carry on as if everything was just fine.

And then something broke in him that night when Jared made Mackenzie watch, something changed and shattered the illusion Jensen’s constructed around himself. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the humiliating degradation of the act itself. After all, Jared could’ve easily done something worse than just have Jensen suck him off. He could’ve bent him over the table and fucked him right there, and even worse – with some effort he could’ve made Jensen come from it too, just like he does almost every night in the privacy of his bedroom.

But the incident proved something that Jensen’s known somewhere deep inside for a while – that there is nothing Jared can’t make him do, there is no limit to his power over Jensen’s body, no part of Jensen that he can’t reach.

And that knowledge’s been killing Jensen inside ever since. Try as he may, he can’t delude himself about it anymore, not when it seems like the whole world is bombarding him with evidence of all the ways in which he doesn’t belong to himself anymore. He can’t get away from that painful knowledge no matter how hard he tries, it’s everywhere around him and he just can’t escape.

He barely slept the last couple of nights; the memories of Jared’s touch and what it can do to Jensen despite his best efforts at resistance keeping him awake and eating away at him like acid, making him bitter and ill-tempered in the morning. He even snapped at Mackenzie today, made her flinch and gasp in shock that she wasn’t able to conceal. If she ever believed his worn-out “I’m fine” line before, she certainly has no reason to believe it now.

Jensen isn’t sure for how much longer he can do this.

An old memory from his time at the Academy comes back to him, a short saying that one of Jensen’s teachers used to repeat: _Every man has a well of courage that he can draw from, and with some men that well can be very, very deep, but it is never bottomless_.

Jensen’s never considered himself particularly strong or courageous, and he certainly never imagined he’d once find himself in the position he’s in now, but rationally he knows he’s doing the best he can. The problem is, it isn’t enough. He’s keeping it together for now, just barely, but he has no idea how much water is left in his personal well. All he knows is that it feels like he’s reaching bottom.

Of course, Jensen’s teacher also liked to say another thing: _When you feel like you can’t go on anymore, when you think you don’t have enough strength to take one more step, you’ve only actually used up a half of your reserves._ Jensen sincerely hopes that the man was right.

It’s evident that Jensen’s current coping mechanism is no longer working. He needs a new one, and he needs it fast.

In fact, Jensen thinks he’s already found one over the last couple of sleepless nights. He just hoped he wouldn't have to resort to it, that some other option would miraculously appear, but that's clearly not going to happen and he needs to do something _now._ It's time to stop hiding his head in the sand and do what has to be done.

The first part of his solution was figuring out what exactly it is that Jared wants from Jensen, and judging by Jared’s behavior the answer is fairly easy: he wants complete and absolute surrender of Jensen’s body, but at the same time he also wants Jensen to still remain _Jensen_. And while Jensen has absolutely no objections against the latter, it is the former that poses the main problem here, so the second and considerably trickier part of the solution was finding a way of giving Jared what he wants without giving up even more of himself.

So here it goes: the only way for Jensen to come to terms with the fact that Jared can use his body any way he wants without feeling violated every time it happens is to do what every pleasure slave Jensen’s spoken to does – fully accept the fact that his body doesn’t belong to him anymore. That it’s nothing but a tool serving its purpose, just like a miner’s pickax serves the purpose of extracting ore, just like a soldier’s sword serves the purpose of slaying enemies. You can’t feel violated for something that’s done to a body that isn’t yours.

It’s like surrendering a territory that is too vast to be defended against an army of Jared’s magnitude and instead withdrawing all the troops to defend the well fortified and defendable core. Yes, it’s extremely drastic and radical and Mackenzie can never _ever_ know about this, but it should help Jensen keep the rest of his integrity intact, it should ensure that Jared won’t just continue to chip away at Jensen’s personality until there’s nothing left of him, and that has to be enough.

*

At least, that’s the idea, certainly easier said than done.

It takes Jensen quite a few tries to get it right; it’s impossible to just flip a switch and completely change his approach overnight - after all, it goes directly against everything he's been doing up to now, and more importantly, it goes against his very nature - and the time that it takes for him to get there is filled with more of the same monotonous hard work and Jared’s invasive touches and nightmares and Mackenzie’s worried, furtive glances that she keeps throwing at Jensen whenever she thinks he’s not looking (but he’s always looking, it’s his job to keep her safe).

But when Jensen finally gets there – and the universe’s sense of poetry has it so that it happens on the day they strike water in the courtyard and the well starts to fill up – Jared notices the change instantly, and a victorious, satisfied grin settles on his lips.

“I told you the day would come when you would start to enjoy this,” he says and rolls Jensen’s nipple between his fingers, his grin widening when Jensen moans wantonly and arches into the touch, lets the sheer physicality of the body that isn’t his anymore take over, follows the voice of mindless pleasure, doesn’t resist its call. The feeling of letting go is almost liberating; he feels weightless already, floating.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jared sounds awed and amazed, looking at Jensen as if he saw him for the first time, and in a way he does. “So beautiful. Let me show you, let me make you feel good.”

It still comes as a surprise when Jared slides down Jensen’s body to crouch between his legs and puts his mouth on Jensen’s heavy, throbbing cock, taking him deep and sucking hard, all the while watching Jensen’s face so no reaction escapes his attention, like he wants to savor the sight, like he doesn’t want to miss a single thing.

Blood is thrumming loud in Jensen’s ears and intense pleasure courses through his veins, and it’s been so long since he’s allowed himself to just go with the flow and _feel_ that it’s not long before he’s gasping, hips stuttering, and he has just enough awareness of himself and his surroundings to realize he should probably give a warning, but all he manages is “I’m going–“ and then he’s _gone_.

Jared only pulls back when Jensen’s done coming. He lets the now softening cock slip out of his mouth and crawls back up Jensen’s body like a large cat, hands on either side of Jensen’s head, and bends down, moving in for a kiss. Jensen obediently parts his lips, makes way for Jared’s tongue and tastes his own come, salty and bitter but without the usual aftertaste of defeat.

*

Later that night -  _much_ later, because Jared felt like celebrating - Jensen stands alone in the empty, silent bathroom and weeps for the part of himself that he's lost. Then he wipes away his tears, looks at his reflection in the mirror and gives himself a promise that this was the last time he made a concession, the last time he retreated. He's found his footing and from now on, there will be no more losing ground.

He returns to his and Mackenzie’s room and she looks at him with big worried eyes and asks the customary “Are you okay?” just like she always does, but Jensen breaks the established pattern. Instead of responding with a strained grin and a “Sure I am” supported only by false bravado that never really fully convinced her anyway, he takes a while to ponder the question.

And it feels so good to answer truthfully: "I'm not okay, but I think I will be."


	6. Chapter 6

Life is good, Jared decides once he rolls off Jensen and heavily flops onto his back, heart racing, blood drumming loud in his ears, residual tremors of pleasure racking his body that is still coming down from one hell of an orgasm. When he turns his head to the side, his gaze falls on Jensen who is lying right next to him, just as breathless as Jared is, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his mouth slack and eyes closed, long curled lashes resting against flushed skin gleaming with a thin layer of sweat.

“I can feel you staring.” Jensen’s voice is deep and a bit hoarse, but that’s to be expected after all the noises of ecstasy Jared’s punched out of him with his cock. Life is very, very good indeed.

“I can stare at you all I want.” After a beat he adds, “You can stare too.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jensen says and keeps his eyes closed.

Jared remains unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm. After all, Jensen can act as standoffish and high-and-mighty as he wants, but when it comes down to it he’ll spread his legs for Jared and get off on it too. And quite spectacularly, now that he's finally done with the blushing virgin act and doesn’t resist the pleasure Jared can give him anymore.

Sure, whatever prompted the sudden change in Jensen’s behavior, it doesn’t extend beyond the physical aspect of their relationship – when it comes to his mind he’s still nearly as reserved and unattainable as ever. But small bits and pieces of his personality occasionally slip through the cracks in the mask he wears, like his annoyance at being called pet names (so Jared naturally feels the obligation to make the extra effort and come up with some juicy ones just to watch Jensen grind his teeth) or the way his eyes light up with interest every time Jared drops the slightest mention of what’s going on in the fallen Ackles kingdom.

Jared loves those fleeting glimpses; every new piece of himself that Jensen unwittingly reveals only deepening Jared’s fascination with him. It might take a very long time, possibly even _years_ , before all of Jensen’s protective layers are peeled off, but Jared’s certain the wait will be worth it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this,” he voices his thoughts, rolling over to his side and propping his head on his hand to look at Jensen more closely.

Sensing Jared’s proximity – or maybe feeling his breath on his skin – Jensen opens his eyes and fixes Jared with a very unimpressed stare. “I’m thrilled.” But underneath the sarcasm, Jared knows Jensen is… well, _not_ thrilled, admittedly, but definitely grateful. After all, it’s Jared’s interest in Jensen that keeps his sister safe, and Jensen is well aware of that.

“It's so nice to see you’re such an exceptionally agreeable companion today,” Jared observes because Jensen’s not the only one who can use sarcasm and irony.

The corner of Jensen’s mouth twitches; he’s fighting a smile. “You keep saying you want to see more of the real me, so I’m only fulfilling my master's wishes like any good slave would.” And he's got the subservient slave attitude down to the letter, all earnest and eager to please and yet so unmistakably fake.

“How commendable.” Jared sits up and scratches at his forehead where a strand of hair is sticking to his sweaty skin. “Alright, I need a bath.”

Jensen takes it as his cue to leave, sliding off the bed and bending down to pick up his clothes, but Jared has other plans. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Jensen stills. “Uh… leaving?”

“No, you’re not. You’ll take a bath with me tonight.” Jared slips on a bathrobe, then clucks his tongue and shakes his head when Jensen makes to put on his pants. “No need for clothes, it’s not that far. Come on.”

Jensen makes a sour face but doesn’t argue, just follows Jared outside the room and through the hallways. Well, not exactly _follows_ , because he still hasn’t gotten rid of his habit of acting like he’s the one in command, even going as far as walking slightly ahead of Jared. It’s not something that would be acceptable in public, in front of other slave owners, but in the privacy of the mansion Jared tolerates it because he likes the way Jensen moves, likes his purposeful, confident stride fit for the king Jensen would’ve become one day had things not turned out as they did.

When they enter the bathhouse, the hot, humid air in the room is a small shock in contrast with the cooler corridors, and Jared quickly shucks his robe and climbs into the large stone tub. The water sloshes around his ankles, then around his knees as he descends the steps and sits down, now immersed up to his chest, and leans his back against the tiled wall.

There's only one thing missing now. “Wine,” he orders, and the slave tending to the baths immediately places a glass into his waiting hand. Jared takes a small sip and hums in approval. “Go, you may leave us now,” he dismisses the slave and hears him walk away. He doesn’t miss Jensen thanking the man in a low voice though; it's another habit that Jensen stubbornly refuses to break.

In fact, Jensen is the perfect embodiment of obstinacy, just standing by the bathtub and obviously not intending to get inside until he’s explicitly told to. It’s almost endearing, and Jared can’t help smiling when he teases, “What’s wrong, is this facility not to your liking? Would you rather be in the cold, unheated communal bathrooms than here?”

He gets no response, but Jensen’s expression makes it clear that yes, he would.

“Tough luck, I want you here. Get in.”

Jensen obeys, predicably choosing to settle in the bathtub as far from Jared as possible; his obstinacy is now becoming kind of tedious. Luckily for him, Jared’s in a good mood tonight. “You think of this as me stealing your time, don’t you? Wasting it.”

Jensen shrugs. “Well, unless you plan on fucking me again anytime soon I really see no reason for me to be here right now.”

“Believe it or not, I only wanted to spend some more time in your company. But now that you’ve mentioned it…” Jared takes a long gulp of the wine before setting the glass aside. “Why don’t you come here?”

Water sluices down Jensen’s body as he stands up. His skin glows almost golden in the shimmering light of the oil lamps, making him look softer somehow, almost ethereal, too beautiful – no other word fits here – to be of this world. He comes closer, stopping in front of Jared and waiting for further instructions. Jared spreads his bent legs and Jensen gets the hint, turning around and sitting between them, his back against Jared’s chest, head resting on Jared’s shoulder. Just a week ago he would’ve been tense and rigid, but now he's loose-limbed and pliant, almost like a sleepy overgrown kitten.

“You know, we really don’t have to spend all our time together having sex,” Jared takes up the conversation again, although he realizes he’s kind of contradicting himself because even now he can’t stop touching Jensen, tracing the hard lines of his chest, circling and then pinching his nipples, teasing them into tight little buds of flesh.

“We don’t?” The water ripples and waves with Jensen’s slow, languid movements as he arches his body, rocking into Jared’s newly awakened erection that is poking into the small of his back. “What _are_ we going to do then?”

“I’m open to suggestions.” Jared lets his left hand disappear under water, slowly slides it down Jensen’s torso, between his legs, past where his cock is already hard again and curving against his belly, until he reaches Jensen’s hole, easily slipping two fingers inside where it’s tight and hot and still slick with Jared’s come. “What do you usually do after I dismiss you?”

“Not this,” Jensen breathes out, but he shifts a little, offering Jared better access.

Jared scrapes his teeth over Jensen’s earlobe, feels the full-body shiver Jensen gives in reaction. “Of course you wouldn’t do this,” he agrees, pulling his fingers out of Jensen and then pushing them right back in, reveling in the soft, involuntary moan that falls from Jensen’s lips when he crooks them, brushing against the bundle of nerves inside. “I bet the first thing you do is try to get clean, isn’t it? Try to wash all traces of my touch away… and I’m not sure I like that. Maybe I should make you wear a plug, keep my come inside you all the time, so you’d never forget who you belong to.”

Jensen gives an incredulous snort. “Do you really think that’s necessary? You’re not exactly easy to forget.”

“Maybe not,” Jared concedes, strangely flattered by Jensen’s admission even though he knows it wasn’t _meant_ as flattery. “But the idea of you walking around with a plug keeping you full of my spunk does hold some appeal, don’t you agree?” When Jensen says nothing, he continues, “After all, you’ve learned to love having me inside you, haven’t you?” He emphasizes his words with a twist of his fingers, both those inside Jensen and those playing with his nipple, eliciting a whimper. “Haven’t you? _Say it_.”

“Sure, I can’t even imagine ever living without your big fat cock now, I just love it so much.” It’s a feeble attempt at biting sarcasm, made toothless by the way Jensen’s eagerly fucking himself back on Jared’s fingers, asshole clenching around them greedily, like he wants more. He can say what he wants, but his body already tells a different story and it’s only a matter of time before his mind follows his body’s example.

Jared can't help smiling as he whispers into Jensen’s ear, “Patience, doll.” And here it is, that affronted huff, because Jensen absolutely _abhors_ being called that. “We’ll get to that soon, just let me play with you a little longer.”

Jensen gives a low, displeased almost-whine at that but otherwise doesn’t protest, pliable and docile like the doll he so desperately doesn't want to be.

“Shh, there’s no rush.” The words are meant as much for Jared as they are for Jensen now; they need to slow down a bit. “Let’s just relax and enjoy the moment, alright?”

He only gets a nod in response.

“That’s my boy.”

The position they’re in gives Jared a nice sense of closeness, but it isn’t exactly ideal for fingering Jensen, so after a while he withdraws his fingers and instead wraps them around Jensen’s cock in a fairly loose hold, jerking it with easy, lazy strokes, up and down, thumb running over the spongy head. Yes, much more comfortable.

“Why are you doing this?” Jensen asks, his relatively calm, pensive tone in stark contrast with the way his hips are thrusting up into Jared’s fist as if moving on their own accord. “It’s not like you’re getting anything out of it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m getting plenty.” And he is, because this isn’t just about physical satisfaction… although that will _definitely_ come later. Jared may be a lot of things, but he is far from being a saint. But all in good time.

Using his free hand, Jared fumbles around the edge of the bathtub until he finds his unfinished wine, drinking some of it and offering the rest to Jensen. He waits until the empty glass is placed aside before taking hold of Jensen’s chin, urging him to twist his neck back so their mouths can meet in a slow, languid kiss, Jared’s tongue first licking at Jensen's lips before plunging deep into Jensen’s mouth, chasing his taste and swallowing his moans.

It’s leisurely, unhurried and completely different from anything they've done so far; another step taken forward. “We should do this more often,” Jared remarks after he ends the kiss by pulling on Jensen’s full bottom lip with his teeth. He leans back against the tiles then, Jensen a present, solid weight resting against him, and closes his eyes.

He lets himself drift; the hot, humid air combined with the strong wine making him feel slightly light-headed, like he's swimming through time and space, everything falling away until there's only him and the man in his arms.

Because he doesn’t stop touching Jensen, not for one single second. He continues teasing him, lightly squeezing Jensen’s cock or rolling his balls in one hand while letting the palm of the other slide up and down the length of Jensen’s arms, over the strong shoulders and down the tightly muscled chest before his attention is eventually drawn to those unusually sensitive nipples, finger pads rubbing over them again and again until Jensen is squirming, trashing in his arms, caught between the conflicting sensations of too much and not nearly enough.

It's intoxicating, the sense of power Jared has over Jensen now, power that doesn't come from anything else than the skill of his touch.

And the sounds. Gods, the sounds. It’s a good thing Jared already came once earlier tonight, because otherwise the sounds Jensen’s making right now would surely be his undoing. They’re not the showy, pornographic, obscene moans that Jensen first used to trick Jared at the Western Frontier, and they’re not the anguished cries Jared used to squeeze out of him against his will either. No, this is different; this open, unguarded intimacy of those little gasps and hitched breaths that become soft mewls and then wailing keens, a perfect soundtrack accompanying the great tension that’s perceptibly building up inside Jensen as the pleasure given to him escalates in intensity.

And then Jensen says, “Fuck me.”

Jared stills, he can’t believe his ears. “What did you say?”

“Fuck me already,” Jensen repeats, his tone urgent and desperate and also pissed, because it just wouldn’t be Jensen otherwise. “Just do it, okay?”

Oh, Jared is going to savor this. “You’ll have to try harder than that if you really want it.”

Jensen groans, strung up and frustrated, turning his head to give Jared a glare that’s equal parts lustful and annoyed. He clearly wants to get this over with so he can leave already, but he also honestly wants to get off, too. No wonder he's grumpy. “Like you weren’t gonna do it any minute now anyway.”

“Sure I was,” Jared agrees since there’s no denying that, then tightens his grip on Jensen’s cock, right down at the base. “And I will. I’m gonna pound you so hard you’ll feel me for days. But I’m thinking… if you don’t ask nicely _you_ won’t get to come. And you do want to come, don’t you, Jensen?” He sinks his teeth into the tender flesh of Jensen’s neck, licks over the reddened skin, moves his lips over Jensen’s ear. “You want to come so bad you’ll probably go off the second I’m inside you. But you have to earn that.”

Silence follows, broken only by the soft splash of water as Jared continues to slowly jack Jensen.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

He’s just starting to think Jensen will refuse when the words come: “ _Please_ fuck me.”

“Still not good enough.”

“Please fuck me, Jared.”

And while that’s a not-so-sneaky attempt at avoiding the _master_ that Jared wanted to hear, it’s also the first time Jensen’s ever used Jared’s name, which in a way makes this their most personal interaction so far, like Jensen’s finally fully acknowledging Jared’s claim over him. And that calls for a celebration.

“Get up. Quick.”

Jensen springs to his feet and Jared stands up too. Suddenly feeling like he can’t wait even just a moment longer, he grabs the very compliant Jensen by the arm and spins him around, water sloshing around their legs and lapping against the tiled walls as he pushes him forward, bending him over the edge of the bathtub. Jensen helpfully spreads his legs and sticks out his ass, and that’s all the invitation Jared needs.

They both groan once he’s all the way in and as soon as he starts moving, Jared can tell he’s close, so close already, his balls heavy and tight and tingling in warning. But he wants Jensen to come first. “Go on, you can come now.” He doesn’t even finish saying it before Jensen cries out, inner muscles fluttering and squeezing Jared so hard it doesn’t take more than three, four, five quick, powerful thrusts and he’s coming too, clutching at Jensen’s hips as his head goes light and his knees go weak.

“Huh. So much for no sex,” he mutters once his heartbeat slows down and his vision clears. The words are somewhat muffled since he’s draped over Jensen, face buried in his neck, sweaty skin sticking to sweaty skin, salt on his tongue. “I guess we’ll just have to keep trying.”

 

***

 

“You know, for someone who’s not feeling very well, your sister is suspiciously lively.”

Jared takes his eyes off Megan and her two friends, riding at an easy trot about twenty yards ahead and chatting happily, and throws a sideways glance at Chad to see him grinning. “Between you and me, I’m pretty sure she ‘wasn’t feeling well’ just so she didn’t have to go to the countryside with the rest of the family.”

“I don’t see why she’d do that,” Chad shakes his head in wonder, eyes squinting against the bright sun. “This time of the year, I’d give my right hand for a chance to escape the City.”

Jared couldn’t agree more. August in the Empire’s capital is probably the closest thing he can imagine to Hell – the sun tirelessly beats down on the paved streets all day long, making a trip through the City an experience similar to walking through a furnace. A crowd-filled, noisy, smelly furnace that has everyone who can fleeing for their summer residences. “I hear you,” he says finally. If he didn’t have his soldier’s obligations to stay here, he’d be long gone already. “Meg doesn’t see it that way though. She doesn’t want to spend any time away from her friends. And I guess she’s enjoying the freedom I give her when our parents are gone,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Okay, _that_ I can totally relate to,” Chad nods approvingly.

For a while, they continue their afternoon ride in silence, the tall, impressive walls of the City on their left and the fields stretching far to the horizon on their right, dotted with the small figures of peasants in wide-brimmed straw hats bent over their beds of cabbage or lettuce or whatever that green stuff is, doing gods know what with their hoes and trowels. The road is fairly empty, save for a few merchants and travelers and the occasional recreational rider. It’s quiet, peaceful, almost idyllic.

“This is fucking boring.”

Jared laughs, silently agreeing with the assessment but unwilling to admit it so easily. “Come on, this is what decent people do to pass the time these days.”

“Well, but we’re not decent people, we're warriors.” Chad wriggles in his saddle restlessly, looking more like a sulky little kid than a member of the Empire's elite military unit. “It’s been almost two months since we’ve seen some real action, it’s driving me nuts!”

Jared gives him a once-over. “You just need to get laid.”

“First of all, I _always_ need to get laid,” Chad counters with a leer. “Second, I _do_ get laid regularly, thank you very much. And third, why don’t you just shut up, Mr. _I Found Myself the Perfect Slave and We Fuck like Bunnies Every Chance We Get_.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know we’re trying something new,” Jared suddenly feels the need to defend himself. “I’ve decided to spend more time with Jensen _without_ any actual fucking.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s that working out for you?”

Unable to hide anything from his best friend’s critical gaze, Jared throws up his hands in resignation. “It’s… We’re… He’s distracting me, okay? With the lips and the eyes and the perky nipples and those goddamn freckles…”

“He’s distracting you. With his _freckles_ ,” Chad repeats as if the word were spoken in a foreign language that he didn’t understand. “Dude, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Says the man who never misses a date with a slave girl he’s not even allowed to touch.”

Completely unconcerned by the jab, Chad shrugs nonchalantly. “Say what you want, but I’m starting to think this whole ‘no touching’ deal isn’t really such a bad thing at all. I mean, Mackenzie’s all kinds of hot and I’d totally jump her bones given the chance, but she’s more than that, you know? And if she were mine, I’d just go and fuck her and probably never even realize what a cool person she actually is. She’d never give me the chance to see the real her.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jared suspects Chad’s mostly saying this because he’s trying to look on the bright side of the arrangement, but at the same time he also can’t deny there’s more than a grain of truth to Chad’s words – after all, Chad apparently succeeded where Jared continues to fail.

To his own bewilderment, over the past few weeks Jared’s actually caught himself almost wishing he and Jensen had met under different circumstances, as equals in an even fight. He’s fairly sure that without the power imbalance Jensen would take Jared more seriously, with respect for a worthy opponent instead of contempt or at best, indifference. It’s stupid and ridiculous to long for the respect of a mere slave whose opinion shouldn’t matter at all, but here Jared is, wishing for it anyway. He hates what Jensen’s doing to him sometimes.

Unaware of Jared’s glum thoughts, Chad continues with his ode, a dopey smile plastered to his face as he rambles on. Jared starts paying attention again, tuning in just to hear him say, “And she never holds back what she thinks, you know, doesn’t pull any punches. But she’s so smart about it, never takes it too far, always stays just this side of polite. The girl’s as dangerous with words as you or I with swords.”

“I know what you mean.” Both Jensen and his sister are apparently well-versed in the art of walking the fine line between speaking their mind and being outright impolite or insulting, which is something that Jared himself has never been that good at – as his recent fall out with Kripke over Commander Heyerdahl’s methods attests. Another unhappy thought. And this was supposed to be a relaxing ride.

Desperately wanting to steer his thoughts elsewhere, Jared asks, “So what exactly do you two talk about?”

“Just stuff.”

“Stuff.”

Chad shrugs. “Well, I can’t really bring up any serious topic because then I always say something that pisses her off – it’s like anything I say can be used against me – and then she starts with those _slavery is wrong_ lectures and man, I’m telling you, once she gets going, she’s unstoppable. Kinda convincing, too.”

That makes Jared pull up short. He gives his friend a long, searching look. “She’s not secretly turning you one of those anti-slavery lobbyists, is she?” Nudging his horse with one knee, he gets closer to Chad and puts a hand on his leg, because this is important. “Chad, please tell me you don’t think she’s actually right.”

Chad holds his gaze steadily. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m an officer of the Imperial army, it’s not my place to think about that kind of thing.”

It’s not an ideal answer, but it will do, so Jared nods, relieved. “You better remember that.”

Slapping Jared’s hand away from his thigh, Chad laughs. “You seriously think I’d throw away my career over something like this? Come on! I mean I like Mackenzie, I really do, but I’m not stupid, man.”

“I know you’re not.” Jared spurs his horse again so they don’t stay too far behind Megan and her friends; he likes to keep an eye on them because you never know what to expect from a bunch of seventeen-year-old girls. “Just be careful; don’t let her get under your skin.”

“No worries, I’ve got this under control,” Chad assures him with an easy smile, the one that signals the serious conversation is over. “But you’re totally right about one thing, Mackenzie _is_ dangerous. She’s like a kitten that disarms you with its cuteness and when you’re not paying attention suddenly you’ve got claw marks all over you. There’s never a dull moment with her. Actually, I think the time I spend with her is probably the most danger and excitement I could possibly find in the City.”

Now that’s a challenge that Jared – as Chad’s best friend and partner in crime – can’t ignore. “Oh, I’ll have to fix that then. We’re going out tonight.”

Chad grins. “Looking for trouble?”

Jared nods, grinning right back. “Looking for trouble.”

*

It turns out they don’t have to look for trouble; trouble finds them.

They part with Chad and Megan’s friends once they reenter the City, everyone going their own way for now, Jared and his sister returning home.

They’re still a few streets away when Jared realizes something is wrong.

Cries.

Shouts.

Screams.

Smoke.

Coming from the direction of the Padalecki residence.

“Fire!” He realizes immediately, and Megan gasps, her eyes widening in fear. Of course, leave it to Jared to scare his sister. He takes hold of her hand, squeezing, waiting until she looks at him. “Meg, it’s gonna be okay, we just need to find out what’s going on. Stay behind me and you’ll be fine, okay?”

She recovers quickly, squeezing back. “Okay.”

They ride through the crowds of curious onlookers – because a fire is a spectacle that nobody wants to miss – as fast as they can, Jared shouting at the people to make way for their horses, then looking back over his shoulder to check that Megan is behind him. The sharp, acrid smell of smoke gets stronger and when he rides through the gate, he can see the flames shooting from the windows of the farthest section of the residence, at the other end of the large courtyard.

“Stay here,” he tells Megan, only waiting for her to nod and then he’s galloping across the courtyard, towards the roaring fire, towards the turmoil of voices and faces of slaves, guards and other house staff, men and women and children crying, screaming. At first glance it’s a total chaos, but there’s a bucket brigade already stretched from the new well to the building and the guardsmen and some of the larger, stronger slaves are busy using halberds to tear down the light wooden roofed bridge that connects this wing to the rest of the residence so the fire can’t spread any further.

“Master Jared!” Lou, the majordomo, spots Jared and hurries to meet him, bald head shining with sweat.

“What happened?” He has to shout the question at the top of his lungs to be heard over the ruckus. “Is anyone harmed?”

“No, Master,” Lou replies, his tone as calm and matter-of-fact as always, even if a little out of breath. “We think the fire started in the oil storeroom, it began spreading too fast for us to stop it, it was too risky to stay long enough to save the furnishing and –“

“I know,” Jared impatiently silences the man with a wave of his hand; he doesn't give a damn about the furnishing or where the fire started. He knows these things happen, especially in the summer when there’s almost no rain and everything is parched and extremely flammable. “I’m not mad. Just go and make sure no one gets hurt.”

So Lou scurries off again, already shouting orders at the people around him, and Jared stays aside, keeping a tight rein on his horse to prevent him from getting spooked and doing his best not to get in anybody’s way.

“Jared!”

He turns around just in time to see Megan (and what is she doing here? he told her to keep away from the fire) struggling to stay in the saddle, her horse – much less accustomed to loud noises and the smell of smoke and fear in the air than Jared’s stallion is – prancing and snorting nervously. The next instant, she’s flying through the air, landing hard on the ground far too close to the scared horse’s hoofs.

And Jared… completely freezes. All his training, all his experience, all the drill, everything he’s been taught ever since he was old enough to pick up a sword, it just falls away and all he’s left with is overwhelming, paralyzing, immobilizing _terror_.

It only lasts for a moment and then the training kicks in and he’s jumping off his own horse and running towards Megan, but even that single moment of delay might be one moment too much.

And then Jensen is there, appearing out of nowhere and moving lightning-fast, dashing in to grab Megan, picking her up and carrying her out of the wild horse’s reach while another slave, short and stocky, is already talking to the horse, calming the animal down with skill that Jared would admire at any other time.

Right now he doesn’t really care, all that matters is that Jensen's here now, thrusting Megan into Jared’s arms and running off the moment Jared accepts the precious load. He sends a quick thank you to the gods when he sees that Megan is scared and a bit bruised but very much alive, clutching at the front of Jared’s shirt like a small child as tears of shock stream down her face. He’s tearing up too, and he’s not going to pretend it’s just because of the sharp, biting smoke that’s stinging his eyes and scratching at his throat.

He quickly carries her farther away from the fire and the commotion. “Megan, are you okay?” He demands as soon as he gently places her on the ground, cradling her head in his hands. “Megan, talk to me.”

She grimaces, coughs, grimaces again, then attempts a smile. “’M fine.”

Not convinced yet, Jared starts checking her for injuries, and only calms down when he sees she’s not lying. She’s alright, she’s fine, she’s safe, and Jared holds her close and tight, rocking her smaller body back and forth and whispering _You’re alright_ and _It’s all over now_ and _Don’t you ever do that to me again_ while she listens and nods humbly.

They’re alright. They’re okay.

It still takes Jared quite a while before he composes himself enough to start registering his surroundings again. Apparently sometime during his freakout over Megan, the City’s firefighters have arrived with their ladders and pike poles and hand-pumped fire engines, and by now they have the fire under control. Good.

He spots Jensen and Mackenzie, both on their knees, facing each other, holding hands and talking in hushed tones. Sitting right next to the siblings is the slave who took care of Megan’s horse, laughing as he talks to another slave, his long hair falling into his face. A middle-aged dark-haired woman is kneeling on the ground, smiling at a tiny blonde whose head she has in her lap, running her fingers through the girl’s hair with warm, motherly affection. A tall, bulky guardsman is holding a small child in one arm, the other arm wrapped around a woman’s waist. The entire courtyard is buzzing with people – free men and slaves alike – interacting with their friends and loved ones, some of them solemn, some laughing, some teary-eyed, but all of them grateful that nobody got seriously hurt, that it’s over.

“It’s oddly peaceful,” Megan observes, her voice rough and scratchy.

So is Jared’s when he nods towards the now mostly only smoldering remains of the building and replies, “You have a seriously messed up notion of peaceful, Meg.”

She shrugs, grinning unapologetically. “It’s been said before.”

Jared allows himself to sit with Megan for a while longer, but eventually he kisses the top of her head and pushes himself to his feet. He’s strangely tired and all he wants to do is stay at his sister’s side and possibly never leave her again, but he can’t do that. He has to go and deal with the fire’s consequences, see to it that all those who lived in the destroyed wing are accommodated elsewhere and that the reparations begin soon.

This is his household, his responsibility, and Jared needs to make sure that everyone under his roof is taken care of.

*

It’s late at night when Jared’s finally done talking to the firefighters and Lou and a bunch of other household staff, settling the matters of accommodation and restoration and better safety, and if he felt tired before, now he’s absolutely _exhausted_.

He doesn’t even think of going to sleep though, he’s still too tense and on edge for that, so he just sits by Megan’s bed and watches her sleep, taking comfort in her calm, peaceful expression and in the fact that she’s fine.

He could have lost her today, and for some reason that experience has really shaken him up, so much more than any of the horrors he’s seen on the battlefields during battle or after. He was taught to handle danger to himself and his troops, not to his loved ones, especially not here, at home.

He had a rider dispatched with a message to his parents earlier today, informing them about what’s happened and that everyone is safe and there’s no need to worry. He’s sure they’ll worry anyway and they’ll come back as soon as the message gets to them, but until then, he’s alone in this.

Suddenly he wishes his mother were here, missing her more intensely than he had in years, missing her soft, loving eyes and her warm embrace and her gentle hands in his hair, comforting him without having to use a single word. It’s a gift he’s afraid he doesn’t have; no one's ever taught him that. Why has no one ever taught him that?

The door opens a crack and Chad peeks inside. “How’s she doing?” He whispers, looking at Megan.

“She’s asleep. And she’s surprisingly okay with what happened, it’s like she doesn’t fully realize how badly it could’ve ended for her.” Which is probably for the best.

“Good.”

“Yeah.” Jared runs his hand down his face before meeting his friend’s eyes. “Hey, thanks for letting us stay over.”

“Like I’d let you stay there, in all that smoke.”

“Yeah.” The fire is under control, but the firefighter captain explained that it would take the night, maybe even another day, before the building burns out completely and the clearing of the ruins can start.

Chad seems uncharacteristically serious as he studies Jared intently. “You okay? Need anything?”

Taking another long look at his sister’s sleeping form, Jared shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

Chad isn’t buying it. He quietly steps inside the room, footsteps light. “You’re not. You’re pretty messed up, man. And you need to eat.”

Normally, Jared would be far from objecting to being offered food, but right now he doesn’t really feel like eating at all. “Not hungry.”

“Not caring.” Grabbing Jared by the shoulder, Chad pulls him up to his feet and practically drags him out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“What the hell, man?”

“I told you. You need to eat.” Chad continues dragging and pushing Jared until they’re both sitting at a table full of food that smells absolutely delicious and Jared realizes he’s actually very, very hungry.

“See? What’d I tell you?” Chad looks infuriatingly pleased with himself as he sits there, nibbling at a sweet roll and watching Jared eat. Jared feels tempted to wipe that _I told you so_ smirk off his friend’s face but refrains from doing so in favor of cramming his mouth with everything that’s on the table and washing it down with strong, red wine. After all, Chad wasn’t wrong.

It makes him feel a little better, and when he’s done eating, he leans back in his chair and raises his glass at Chad. “Thank you.”

Chad gives a nod, still uncharacteristically serious. It’s starting to creep Jared out. “I’m gonna ask you again – are you okay?”

Jared contemplates giving him some crap about how he’s just peachy, but figures Chad knows him too well for that, so instead he shrugs. “I will be. It’s just… it’s thrown me off a bit, you know? I’m not used to seeing my family in danger like that.” The terrifying image of Megan under the wild horse’s hoofs is still there every time he closes his eyes and he knows for certain that it will haunt his dreams tonight... and probably for many more nights to follow.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Actually, there is,” Jared nods after giving the question some thought. “I could use some company. Just... help me get my mind off things.”

Chad’s whole face lights up with mischievous joy. “Well, you asked just the right guy. You know I’m awesome at that. Trust me – five minutes from now you’re gonna be crying tears of laughter.”

“Oh no, you’re gonna tell me the three sisters on a boat story again, aren’t you?”

"Five minutes. Tears of laughter."

"Yeah, okay. Go ahead."

 

***

 

“I haven’t thanked you yet,” Jared says once he’s done making up for the time he had to spend without Jensen. (It’s been three days – three nights – since the fire, since Jared last touched Jensen, and while Jared gratefully used the services of Chad’s personal collection of pleasure slaves, all of them top-class and skilled and perfectly trained, none of them was Jensen, none of them managed to truly sate Jared’s hunger. Which explains why he’s now sprawled in his bed on top of the covers, completely spent, limbs loose and heavy, mind stupidly slow and hazy, cock sore and over-sensitized and pretty much dead to the world. He doesn’t even want to think how Jensen must feel.)

Jensen slowly lifts his head off the pillow, supporting his upper body with arms that are shaking slightly, licks his red, swollen lips and fixes his eyes on Jared. “Thanked me for what?”

“For what you did for my sister.”

“What? Oh, that.” It’s almost like Jensen’s forgotten about it. “Well, it wasn’t even me who noticed she was in trouble, it was Chris.”

“Chris?”

For some reason, that seems to aggravate Jensen. “Chris, your slave, one of the manual workers,” he explains impatiently. “He’s the one who took care of her horse.”

“Oh.” Jared remembers now, albeit vaguely. “The one who desperately needs a haircut?”

Jensen quirks an eyebrow and directs his critical gaze at Jared’s hair.

Choosing to ignore the look, Jared goes back to the original topic. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter who noticed she needed help first. What matters is that you did help her.”

Moving with careful slowness that betrays how much of an effect Jared’s enthusiasm over their reunion had on him, Jensen first pushes himself to hands and knees, then settles on his knees, a grimace of discomfort passing across his features. He’s probably changing positions just so Jared has to look up to maintain eye contact when he speaks. “I didn’t do it because she’s your sister, and I certainly didn’t do it for you. I did it because she was in danger and she needed help. I would’ve done the same for anyone.”

That definitely sparks Jared’s interest, his brain waking up now. “Anyone? Even me?”

A muscle jumps in Jensen’s jaw. He takes his sweet time before he answers, and when he does, it’s with a glare that’s angry and defiant at the same time; typical Jensen. “Yes. Even you.”

Not that Jared actually expected anything else, but it’s still very, very satisfying to hear it.  He could use it against Jensen now, make fun of him, maybe say _so you_ do _love me_ or something along these lines, but he’s not going to. He doesn’t want to cheapen the moment, lighten the weight of Jensen’s statement, and also, as much as he'd like it to be, he knows well that this isn’t even really about him anyway.

“I appreciate that,” is what he says. “I really do,” he insists when Jensen looks doubtful. “You take care of the people around you.”

“I try.” Apparently uncomfortable, Jensen looks down at his hands, frowning slightly. Jared is surprised when he speaks again, the words coming out of his mouth slowly and with obvious reluctance. “I saw you today, you know. When I was helping clear the debris with the others. They said you came here each day after the fire to check that everything was going smoothly and that everyone was taken care of.”

“I did,” Jared admits, waiting with increasing curiosity to see if Jensen says something else.

But he's not really surprised when Jensen doesn’t.

 


	7. Chapter 7

The tip of Jensen’s sword is pressing into the spot over Jared’s heart.

The tip of Jensen’s sword is pressing into the spot over Jared’s heart and Jared is grinning from ear to ear, carefree and absolutely unconcerned for his life. A little appreciative though, maybe. “I thought you said you were out of practice.”

Jensen draws the sword back, shrugs. He’s still continuing the morning workout and self-defense lessons with Mackenzie, but there’s only so much they can do in the cramped space of their room. Still, he doesn’t try to hide the smile tugging at his lips, ready to savor his victory, however brief it is. “Maybe I’m just that good.”

Jared laughs. “Or maybe you’re just really motivated. I mean, I can have you on your back any time I want, but getting the chance to turn the tables on me without punishment… That must be sweet.”

“It is,” Jensen agrees, offering his hand to Jared who grabs it and uses it to pull himself to his feet before bending down to pick up his sword from where Jensen kicked it to the corner after disarming him.

“You really gave me a run for my money,” Jared says, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “I haven’t had this much fun sparring in a long time. We should do this regularly.”

So they do.

*

Some days, Jensen actually enjoys sparring with Jared.

Their skills are fairly evenly matched so it’s always a bit of a gamble, although if Jensen’s completely honest with himself Jared’s probably scored more wins than him. Which could be attributed to the fact that while Jared starts their training more or less rested, Jensen already has an entire day’s worth of hard work behind him. But even on his worst day he always manages to land a couple good blows, and that will never stop being satisfying.

Of course, not for a moment does he let himself forget that it wouldn’t really matter even if he won every single one of those fights, and the feeling of helplessness and futility that comes with that knowledge is nearly unbearable. It's like the sparring is just the latest of Jared’s sneaky ways to mess with his mind. After all, nothing says “you’re my bitch” better than giving said bitch a weapon and knowing damn well it won’t ever be used against you.

Jared’s laughing in the face of Jensen’s impotence, and there’s nothing Jensen can do about it.

And that's the problem.

Jensen wasn’t born for inactivity, for idling around and passively watching things happen around him, _to_ him. He was born and raised to take action, to lead, to fight, to protect; and he can’t do any of that here. All the things that defined him as a person, everything that made him who he is, all those ties of blood and family and responsibility have been severed and now he’s like a puppet whose strings have been cut, like an uprooted tree, like a ship without a steersman, a soldier without orders. (And yes, the number of similes he’s just come up with demonstrates perfectly how much thought he’s given to the topic.)

The world doesn’t make sense to him like this. _Jensen_ doesn’t make sense like this. All there is for him, all that he seems to be good for lately, is serving Jared in any way Jared sees fit. Obeying and pleasuring Jared is what defines him these days, and he’s becoming almost disturbingly adept at doing just that.

Sometimes, when he’s tired to the point of almost not caring, he thinks he should just accept this new role that’s been given to him and stop clinging onto old ones that mean nothing now. Life would definitely be easier that way.

And sometimes he thinks Mackenzie is the only thing preventing that from happening. She’s his anchor, his living proof that he can, in fact, make someone’s life a little better. As long as she’s alive, as long as Jensen has that role of older brother and protector to fall back on – even though he really can't do much to protect her, admittedly – there is a part of him that remains untouched by everything else that's going on around him.

He just has to hold onto that.

 

***

 

It seems that some things remain the same, no matter where you are. One of them, apparently, is the smell of fresh straw bedding and horses in a clean stable, and when Jensen closes his eyes and just breathes in and listens, he can almost believe that he’s back home, in the royal stables at the palace and one of the horses in the stalls is his Impala, nickering in greeting and stamping her feet impatiently in expectation of a quick morning ride, just her and Jensen and the wind, unrestrained and free.

Of course, if these really were the stables back home at Hengstenfurt, Jensen wouldn’t have just spent the morning cleaning them himself, but that’s a small detail that he chooses to overlook, allowing himself the luxury of living in a fantasy for a short while.

So he keeps his eyes closed and lets his imagination take him away from here, carry him home. Now, let’s see… He’d exit the royal palace through one of the smaller back gates, cross the old stone bridge and ride at an easy pace until he’d reach the city gate, and then they’d be outside, galloping down the road lined with tall, thick oaks. Yes. He can see it. It’s autumn in his dream – chilly and crisp, so unlike the heavy, stifling heat here down south – and the colorful leaves are rustling under Impala’s hoofs, and the line of trees is shrouded by fog in the distance, making it look like the road never ends, like it goes on forever and if Jensen just rode on he would never, ever have to stop.

He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he only registers the light footfalls behind him when it’s too late. He tenses, but when he feels the familiar weight and width of Jared’s palm on his shoulder, he relaxes again, and then immediately hates himself for both recognizing Jared’s touch as familiar and considering it a reason to relax.

“What a pleasant surprise, the two of us meeting here like this, isn’t it?” Jared sounds cheerful, there’s a smile audible in his voice.

Unlike Jared, Jensen feels neither cheerful nor talkative, so he leaves the question unanswered, not even bothering to turn around.

Jared doesn’t seem to take offence. His hand remains on Jensen’s shoulder, thumb pressing slightly into the flesh. “So, what were you doing here exactly? Thinking about running away?”

“Yes.” No reason to deny it.

“But you’re not going to.”

Jensen’s fists clench in helpless anger at the dead certainty in Jared’s tone, and at the fact that at least for the time being, that certainty is well-grounded. “No.”

“So…” Jared steps closer, pressing against Jensen in a long line of muscle and heat underneath one layer of clothes. His breath is a warm tickle over the skin of Jensen’s neck when he speaks. “Tell me, what were you dreaming about? Killing me and then getting away? Was that a part of your fantasy?”

A small laugh escapes Jensen. “Sorry, you weren’t in it. After all, it was a _fantasy_.”

He finds himself hoping childishly that Jared will be hurt by his words, but if Jared is, he doesn’t show it. “If you’re trying to ruin my mood, I’m going to have to disappoint you. Because my fantasy? Is standing right here in front of me. And looking downright edible.”

And here we go, Jensen thinks when Jared’s teeth graze his earlobe. The graze becomes a bite and then a lick, sending a shiver through him. He can feel Jared’s erection pressing against him, and his own cock is stirring in his pants, a reaction trained into him over the course of the past few months.

“That’s right,” Jared croons, encouraging. His hands are on Jensen’s chest, working open the top few buttons of his shirt and sliding underneath the cloth, eliciting another shiver when they encounter a nipple. “Yeah, that’s right.”

It’s pretty obvious where this is heading, but Jensen’s not okay with that, not at all. This isn’t the privacy of Jared’s bedroom, where Jensen’s learned to let go of everything and become nothing more than a body offering and receiving pleasure. This is a whole another situation, a whole another setting, and he simply doesn’t want Jared invading this world, this place where Jensen can be an actual _person_ , even if right now that person is nothing more than a stand in for a sick stableboy. “What are you doing here anyway?” He’s careful to keep his voice even despite what Jared’s touch is doing to him. “It’s very early.”

“Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get up early and get my horse ready myself. I’m attending a meeting with Kripke this morning.”

Oh. Jared’s been to a lot of those lately, and whereas in the past he used to return from the Emperor’s palace ill-tempered and snappish, sometimes even violent, lately he always seems to be in a good mood. “If you’re going to the palace, why aren’t you wearing the full festive armor?” Because he can’t feel any of the armor digging into his back, it’s just leather and cloth, Jared’s usual casual wear.

“It’s an informal meeting. Why, you miss the armor?” As he speaks, his hand is slowly creeping down, towards the front of Jensen’s pants.

Frankly, Jensen finds the full festive armor ridiculous. All the ornaments and reliefs on the muscle cuirass, with scenes depicting the Empire’s heroic victories, it’s absolutely useless in battle and it looks like something out of a museum. “Not really.”

Jared chuckles behind him, another warm puff of breath. “Me neither. I _hate_ that thing. Whenever I’m wearing it I feel like an exhibit in a museum.”

The top button of Jensen’s pants is popped open.

Jensen’s running out of time. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go now? I’m not all that familiar with your customs and traditions, but I’m sure punctuality is important.”

“Ah, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re actually concerned for my well-being.”

“I just don’t think it would be appropriate for you to keep the Emperor waiting.”

“I guess we’ll have to be quick then.”

Alright, clearly there’s no way out of this now, so like a good soldier Jensen adjusts to the situation, his priority shifting from avoiding sex completely to making it as unembarrassing and quick as possible. The optimal solution suggest itself and Jensen acts fast, grabbing Jared’s hand and pulling it out of his pants, then turning around and sinking to his knees before Jared gets a chance to protest. Not that Jensen expects him to.

“That’s the right attitude,” Jared cups the back of Jensen’s head with one hand, gently but firmly holding him in place. “Good boy,” he adds when Jensen takes him out of his pants, a smug, taunting smirk curving his lips.

As a matter of fact, Jensen is _older_ than Jared, but of course Jared already knows that, he knows that just as well as he knows that Jensen hates being called a boy; it’s why he does it. Jensen’s trying to be more careful with his reactions to such provocations, verbal or otherwise, in hope that Jared will grow bored of the taunts if they go unnoticed, but so far his attempts haven’t been very successful. He’s either a very bad actor or Jared is very good at seeing through his act.

The tip of Jared’s cock bumps into his cheek. “I thought you didn’t want to keep Kripke waiting?”

Jensen couldn’t care less about Kripke, but what he does care about is getting this over with before someone comes here and sees him like this, so he doesn’t waste any more time and gets down to business. First several long, lapping licks up and down Jared’s length to get it nice and wet, then he wraps his fist around the base and takes the rest into his mouth. He’s rewarded with a groan and a muttered curse, Jared’s fingers twisting in his hair. Jensen hums and relaxes his throat, taking more, deliberately going a bit too fast because Jared likes it when Jensen nearly chokes on him, when it brings tears to his eyes.

“Fuck, so eager.” Jared already sounds out of breath, shaky. “It’s like – ah, it’s like you’re hungry for it. So fucking good.“

The quickly increasing number of stutters and _ahs_ and _fucks_ tells Jensen that Jared’s getting close and if he does this right, it’ll be over in no time. He doesn’t bother with finesse, just alternates between taking Jared in as deep as he can and easing back to suck at the thick head, one hand wrapped around the base of Jared’s cock, the other massaging Jared’s balls.

“Yeah, just like that.”

To speed things up even more, Jensen plays his ace, the one thing that never fails to get Jared off, the one thing that works like a charm: he lets himself get off on it too. It’s easier than it used to be, and he doesn’t really need to fake the moans that start low in his throat once he starts grinding his erection, which hasn’t wilted since Jared started touching him, against Jared’s leg.

Jared’s reaction is immediate, his hands on Jensen’s head becoming almost painful as he tightens his hold to keep Jensen in place, the thrusts of his hips becoming less controlled, the curses falling from his lips less coherent. He’s close now, just a few moments from –

But suddenly those hands aren’t holding onto Jensen anymore, they’re pushing him off instead, and Jared’s pulling him up to his feet. “I need to fuck you.”

Oh. Of course he does, because the universe just can’t give Jensen a break. Jensen desperately tried to avoid getting fucked here in the stables where anyone could come in and see, so getting fucked in the stables is exactly what he’ll get. He grunts in annoyance when Jared begins tugging at the waistband of his pants, pushing them down past his hips, but when he looks up into Jared’s wide, darkened eyes, he sees no malevolence, no intent to harm or humiliate, only raw, unbridled need, naked and open and almost vulnerable.

“Come on,” Jared urges him, walking Jensen backwards until his back connects with the wall at the end of the stable. “Come on,” he repeats, no patience and all urgency as he spins Jensen around, prying his ass cheeks apart once Jensen gets on with the program and bends forward, forearms on the wall, head down. Jared spits several times, spreads the wetness around Jensen’s hole and presses a finger inside, then another, as Jensen does his best to relax, thankful he’s still fairly loose from last night because this could get pretty painful otherwise.

Still, he’s not nearly as ready as he’d like to be when Jared starts pushing inside, and it hurts, just like it always does at first, even when Jared takes is slow and careful. And he’s not taking it slow and carful now, too far gone for that, growling into Jensen’s neck as he forces his way inside, one strong arm circling Jensen’s waist and the other on his hip. There will be bruises.

As soon as Jared’s buried to the hilt, he pulls almost all the way out and then slams back in, and then again, soon finding the right angle to drive a sharp cry of painpleasure out of Jensen.

One of the horses in the stalls neighs, and Jensen’s reminded (and when exactly did he forget?) of his whereabouts. He doesn’t want to be heard, doesn’t want to be seen like this, so he clamps his mouth shut, struggling to remain silent as Jared drives into him relentlessly.

Which is complicated because it feels _good_ , the initial pain gone now and replaced by shocks of sharp, explosive pleasure that have Jensen biting the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t cry out again, and still he can’t help making those deep, needy grunts and moans, even though they’re mostly drowned out by Jared’s louder, unrestrained ones.

Because Jared is a wild beast now, slamming into Jensen with such force that being squished between him and the wall is starting to seem like a real possibility, and that’s a shame because Jensen would really like to get one hand free and wrap it around his own cock. As it is, the only thing he can do is brace himself against the wall more firmly, arch his back and meet each and every one of Jared’s thrusts in an attempt to get more, deeper, faster. He’s close now too, unable to keep silent any longer, which only serves to spur Jared on, the pace he sets brutal and punishing, violent in that unintentional way that means Jared’s self-control has all been stripped away, nothing now holding back his enormous strength.

Jared sinks his teeth into the back of Jensen’s shoulder when he comes, filling Jensen up with his hot seed, but he doesn’t give himself more than a few heartbeats of gasping, shuddering inactivity before he’s moving again, pulling out and spinning Jensen around, trapping him between the wall and his own body as he starts to jack Jensen with fast, hard strokes.

“I love it when you’re like this,” he growls before he sticks his tongue down Jensen’s throat, taking his mouth with the same aggressive possessiveness with which he took his ass earlier. It’s like standing in the path of a tornado, and Jensen doesn’t fight it anymore, just lets it sweep him off his feet, and soon he’s gasping and spilling all over Jared’s fist.

“Shh, you can let go now,” Jared says, surprisingly gently, and only now does Jensen notice that he’s gripping Jared’s biceps so hard that it’s actually difficult to let go, fingers locked in place. He won’t be the only one leaving with a couple of bruises.

“I’m sorry,” he starts apologizing.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Jared shakes his head, waving it off. “I love it when you’re so into it that you forget your place.” He takes a step back and frowns slightly when he looks down at his sticky hand and the state of his clothes, crumpled and sweat-soaked. “Huh. I should probably go change.”

“You should,” Jensen agrees, silently wishing that he could do the same.

Wiping his hand on his pant leg and pulling up his pants, Jared shoots Jensen a knowing look and gives a short, amused laugh. “So, while I’ll be enjoying a quick shower, get my horse ready for me, will you?”

And he’s gone. The bastard.

*

He’s back again soon though, now dressed in new, clean pants and shirt, hair slightly damp and lips curled into a smile when he lets his eyes travel over Jensen’s clothes, messy and disheveled despite Jensen’s best attempts at making himself look more presentable and inconspicuous. “Well, aren’t you a sight.”

Jensen glares as he steps aside, handing over the bridle of Jared’s dapple. “Just don’t get too excited or you’ll be late.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get there in time.” Jared mounts the stallion in one swift, elegant move, and laughs when he catches Jensen watching the horse wistfully. “Tell you what, be a good boy and I might take you out someday soon. Show you the City.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“Sure, but I’m guessing you weren’t really paying attention to the architectural monuments and other gems of our beautiful capital while you were being auctioned off.”

Actually, what Jared doesn’t know is that Jensen’s been to the City before that, about ten years ago, when he was accompanying his father on a diplomatic visit. He’s already opening his mouth to tell Jared this when he realizes there’s no reason to give that particular piece of information away. It’s not like this is a friendly conversation.

Jared laughs, misinterpreting the silence. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, we’ll have to fix that, show you what you missed the first time. Who knows, maybe I’ll finally convince you of the benefits that come with being part of the Empire.” And with that, he spurs his horse on, riding away.

Jensen watches the guardsmen close the gate behind him, and then Ty and Chris are shouting at him over the courtyard, telling him to move his pretty ass and come help them with the massive beam they’re carrying towards where the new building is being constructed.

So Jensen moves his ass and goes to help them.

*

“Of course it’s the same for everyone.” Mackenzie raises her voice in order to draw the attention of everyone around the long table in the dining room. “Hey, guys! Silver and yellow, yes or no?” When she’s met with uncomprehending stares, she hastens to explains, “Silver and yellow, do these two colors go together?”

“Why?” Someone asks from the other end of the table, a pretty blonde whose name Jensen doesn’t recall. He does remember she’s one of the pleasure slaves though.

“Kenzie has this theory,” Alona jumps in, rattling off said theory in the tone of someone who’s already heard it one too many times. “She thinks some things, like basic aesthetic sense, are inherent in all human beings from all races or genders or social ranks, which, according to her, proves that we’re all the same and no one should be treated as a slave.”

“What’s ass-thetic?” Ty inquires.

“Aesthetic.” Richard, who works in the palace library, never misses an opportunity to show off his knowledge. “Well, to put it simply, it’s anything that has to do with art, beauty.”

“Oh.” Ty nods and loudly slurps soup from his spoon. “Okay, so what was the question again?”

A brief yet lively discussion follows, showing that most men think yellow and silver go perfectly well together, some going as far as claiming that these two colors are actually the same, which leads Samantha to conclude that men aren’t really human beings at all and if anyone should be enslaved it’s them. The proposition is met with much agreement from the female part of the diners, less so from the male, and then it’s all friendly jabs and laughter, the topic of slavery forgotten.

Poor Kenzie, disappointed with the turn the conversation’s taken, sulks and nibbles at her food, only showing interest in her surroundings again when she notices Jensen flinching as he leans over the table to pass the salt to Richard.

“Hey, you okay? You seem a bit stiff today.” The transition from a sulking girl to a concerned young woman is smooth and immediate. “Did you get hurt working at the building site?”

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” Ty drawls. “He just had a passionate reunion with Master Jared this morning.” And he’s probably not even trying to be an ass; he honestly believes this is going to stop her worrying.

Needless to say, she doesn’t look comforted by his words at all.

“Real passionate,” Ty continues, adding an absolutely unnecessary and very crude gesture to clarify his meaning. Okay, he most definitely _is_ being an ass now. “You shoulda heard ‘em going at it. Hell, loud as they were, you probably did.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Jensen steps in. He’s gotten used to the slaves around him talking about what he does with Jared with the same casualness as about, say, the weather, but Mackenzie still takes those comments very hard. Not that he blames her.

Ty raises both hands in defense. “Just tellin’ the truth, man.”

“Give it a rest, you big moron,” Chris growls, obviously having caught up on Jensen and Kenzie’s discomfort. Underneath his grumpy, tough guy façade, he’s surprisingly perceptive and gentle. “You’re such an old gossip, it’s fucking unbelievable.”

“I like to stay informed, ‘s all.”

“Speaking of staying informed,” Jensen jumps at the opportunity to change the subject before things get really awkward, “does anybody here have an idea why Ja– Master Jared seems so cheerful lately? If anything, I’d expect him to be in a bad mood after the fire. But he’s not, more like the opposite.”

“You mean he doesn’t tell you these things?” The blonde pleasure slave – Katherine, Jensen remembers – asks in surprise. “You’re with him every night.” And was that jealousy in her voice?

“I’m sure they have better things to do than talk, if you catch my drift,” Ty supplies helpfully, earning himself a clip round the ear from Samantha and a kick in the leg under the table from Mackenzie, who delivers it with her sweetest, angelic smile firmly in place.

“I’d just like to know what it is that makes him so happy,” Jensen doesn’t let anyone sidetrack him. Sure, he could ask Jared directly, and maybe he’d even get a straight answer, but he'd rather get the information without feeling like he owes Jared anything.

Richard shrugs. “Well, could be he’s just happy for his friend’s promotion.”

“Friend?” Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen notices that Mackenzie is surreptitiously trying to move pieces of beef meat from her bowl into his. “Nuh-uh. That’s all yours.” He ignores her scowl and turns back to Richard. “A friend’s promotion?”

“Chad,” Mackenzie says, making a face around a mouthful of meat. She’s never been a fan of beef, but she can’t afford to be picky now, she needs all the nutrients she can get. “He told me today. He’s getting his own new unit too.”

Alona chimes in, grinning at Kenzie conspiratorially. “I bet you’re proud of your dauntless warrior, right?”

Which is so ludicrous that Jensen snorts with disbelieving laughter. If anyone should be called Mackenzie’s dauntless warrior, then it’s him, not some Imperial officer with a stupid name and stupid hair. Not that Jensen’s ever seen Chad, but he’s pretty sure he does have stupid hair.

Also, Kenzie’s trying to sneak her meat into his bowl again.

“Stop that,” he admonishes her. It’s like this every time, and while Jensen never lets her get away with it, she still keeps trying. He certainly has to give her points for persistence.

“I’ll trade for celery,” she offers, and while that sounds very tempting – Jensen _hates_ celery – he still shakes his head firmly.

“Just eat, okay? You need to be strong and pretty for your dauntless warrior.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” But at least she doesn’t protest anymore.

“So, his friend’s getting promoted,” Jensen speaks up after a while. His bowl is almost empty, just those celery pieces left now, and he’s currently collecting the courage to face them. “Anything else that might explain Master Jared’s good mood?”

“Masters Gerald and Jeff were talking about Master Jared in the baths last night,” Katherine says. “They said the Emperor’s favored him with his grace again. I’m sure it has something to do with the situation in the Northmost Province.”

“The Ackles Kingdom,” Jensen and Mackenzie correct her in unison, just like they always do when someone calls their country by the new name officially used by the Empire.

Katherine shrugs and gives him a mildly dissatisfied look. “Whatever.” She pauses, and Jensen fears she won’t say more, but luckily the chatty side of her personality wins over in the end. “From what I’ve gathered, the Empire is still having trouble with the rebels, despite the Governor’s best effort. And since Master Jared had predicted this would happen right from the beginning, the Emperor is now willing to lend an ear to his suggestions again. And the Governor, Commander Heyerdahl, is quickly losing Kripke’s support.”

Jensen nods, impressed by how well-informed the blonde pleasure slave is. “So, this Heyerdahl… Who is he?”

Katherine shifts in her seat, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “No one good.”

 

***

 

Jensen is drenched in sweat, bone-deep weary and there’s not a single part of his body that doesn’t ache and complain about even the smallest movement. And, just like always, it’s all Jared’s fault. Jared and those damn sparring sessions.

Cursing under his breath as he plods through the corridors leading from the gymnasium to the slaves’ quarters, Jensen draws strength from the vision of washing all that sweat off and getting clean, and of the dinner that will come after that. He’s learned to appreciate the simple pleasures of life.

When he enters the communal bathrooms he finds Chris standing there and shaking water off his long, wet hair like an overgrown dog, droplets flying through the air.

“It would be so much easier if you just cut it,” Jensen suggests for what must be the hundredth time, just to see the priceless expression that never fails to appear on Chris’ face whenever someone even hints at the possibility of a haircut. Simple pleasures.

“Come anywhere near my hair and I’m breaking your damn arm,” comes the usual reply. It’s become sort of a tradition between them, Jensen ribbing Chris about his hair and Chris ribbing Jensen about… well, everything. And sure, there’s that mischievous twinkle in Chris’ eyes as he takes in Jensen’s appearance. “Wow, it’s gonna take you a lotta effort to look pretty for Master Jared tonight.”

“Shut up,” Jensen grumbles as he drags his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, throwing it unceremoniously to the floor. “You’re just jealous.”

Chris chuckles good-naturedly. “Sure I am. All that time you have to put into primping... Yeah, who wouldn’t want that?” He heads for the door, turns with his hand on the handle, grinning. “Don’t take too long, prettyboy, you don’t wanna miss dinner.” He gives Jensen a sloppy salute, and leaves.

Finally alone, Jensen strips the rest of his clothes and washes himself quickly, the cold water doing wonders at bringing new energy into his veins.

When he’s done, he pads over the tiled floor to the tall mirror, because even if Jensen will never admit it out loud, Chris was actually right – he does spend a lot of time primping. He has to.

It’s funny, really. Funny in that _laughing so I don’t start crying_ kind of way. From a very early age, Jensen trained hard to become skilled in combat, he studied tactics and strategy, took lessons in diplomacy and foreign languages, read books on philosophy and ethics and history, but what matters now are his looks. That’s what prevented the Imperial soldiers from executing him like the rest of his family, that’s what caught Jared’s interest and helped Jensen negotiate for Mackenzie’s safety.

He takes one more step forward, leaning closer to examine his reflection, trying to see what the others see in his face.

Big, green eyes that look older than they should. Too many wrinkles. A small bump on his nose where he broke it as a kid. High cheekbones. Freckles. And yes, his lips. Intrigued, he brings up his fingers to touch them. They’re soft and warm, full and plump. _Cocksucking lips_ , Jared often tells him. _You were made for this_ , he likes to say when he’s thrusting into Jensen’s mouth. _Love that mouth_.

Unbidden, a memory of Danneel comes to his mind. She used to talk about his mouth too sometimes, saying how she loved the way the corners went up when he smiled, how you could always catch a glimpse of tongue between his teeth, how his smiles brought out those crinkles around his eyes, and how completely adorable he was. And he’d blush and beg her to stop, but she’d always tease a smile out of him anyway.

It seems like a lifetime ago, and even though the memory is comforting, Jensen doesn’t want it, not here, not now. It has no place here.

Thankfully, an interruption comes in the form of Mackenzie knocking on the door. Jensen knows it’s her because she’s the only one who bothers to knock. Privacy isn’t exactly valued here. “Give me a moment,” he calls, reaching for his pants, pulling them on just as the door opens and she walks in.

“There you are,” she says, covering her eyes with her hand.

“What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait?”

“I just found out that today is Gerald Padalecki’s birthday.”

“So?”

She sighs, and he’s sure she’s rolling her eyes. “So, in celebration, we’re getting a better dinner than we usually do. A lot better. Alona spoke to the girls from the kitchen and they said there will be pork chops, so I thought you’d like to be there as soon as you can, grab the biggest plate, maybe charm the cook into giving you seconds.”

“Kenzie, you’re a treasure. And a genius.” As soon as he’s done buttoning his shirt – he doesn’t want her to see the bruises underneath – Jensen closes the distance between them and pulls his sister into a quick hug. She yelps in surprise but laughs, and she keeps on laughing as he grabs her by the hand and drags her through the door and towards the dining room.

 

***

 

Jared’s streak of good mood and generosity culminates in him taking Jensen out for a trip to the City, just like he promised. He says it’s a reward for Jensen’s exemplary behavior, but it’s more than that. It’s a sales pitch.

They visit the Imperial Gallery that was opened to the public by Kripke several years ago. They work their way through the endless crowds milling around the marketplace that offers everything there is to offer and more. They peek into the silent, solemn halls of the City Library where endless shelves full of books and scrolls rise up to the vaulted ceilings. They watch children playing in the spacious courtyard of the temple orphanage and the priests and physicians tending to the sick in the temple hospital. They attend a lecture at one of the oldest, most reputable schools, where young men first listen to what their teachers have to say and then engage in a refined, very intelligent discussion.

The show is very impressive but Jensen’s not buying. Unlike Jared and probably all the other citizens of the Empire, he sees what they don’t – the countless slaves whose hard work makes all this splendor possible. They’re everywhere he looks, silent and obedient, faceless. Invisible.

“I see I haven’t convinced you,” Jared observes. He doesn’t seem particularly disappointed.

“Not really, no.”

“Well, it was worth a try.”

The trip ends with a visit to one of the palaces in the City center. A slave greets them at the gate and leads them through a wonderful vast garden until they reach a small garden pavilion where the bustle of the outside world is barely audible.

Jared settles comfortably in a chair and Jensen folds to his knees next to him, keeping the required position of a perfect slave because Jared’s made it very clear that any show of rebelliousness or disobedience is unwelcome.

They wait for maybe ten minutes, Jared sipping wine and occasionally offering his glass to Jensen, and then their host finally arrives.

Jensen recognizes the man instantly – it’s General Manners. Jensen’s met him before, shortly before the war started, when Manners led a delegation to Hengstenfurt, sent by Kripke to present Jensen’s father with the “gracious” offer to bend his knee and become a part of the glorious Empire.

“Your father should have said yes then,” Manners says once he greets Jared, showing that he recognizes Jensen as well.

Not sure if he’s allowed to speak, Jensen says nothing.

“You can speak when spoken to,” Jared tells him.

Jensen raises his head to meet Manners’ gaze. “My father was right to say no, regardless of how the war ended.”

Manners sighs. He looks pensive, tired. “Many lives could have been spared. Many people could have been still alive, including your father.”

“Yes, many lives could’ve been spared if you hadn’t attacked us.”

Jared makes an impatient noise, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the armrest of his chair. “Let’s not dwell on the past, shall we? That’s not why we’re here.”

A small, indulgent smile passes across Manners’ features, as if he’s amused by the younger man’s restlessness. “Fine. Let’s cut to the chase.”

Expecting to be left out of the conversation from now on, Jensen is more than surprised when the next words Manners speaks are directed at him again: “Do you know anything about the current situation in the Northmost Province?”

As always, Jensen’s hands ball into angry fists at the new name. He ponders the question before answering truthfully. “Not much. But from what I’ve heard, Commander Heyerdahl is having some serious trouble with my people.”

“Your people,” Manners repeats, again with that indulgent smile. “Well, you’re not wrong. His attempts to pacify the resistance movement haven’t been as successful as he’d hoped.”

“What a surprise,” Jared interjects with a gleeful smirk.

“Jared, please,” Manners raises one hand for silence, and Jared immediately quiets down. “As I was saying,” the General turns his attention back to Jensen, “many in the Province are still refusing to accept the Empire’s sovereignty. Not all of them, but enough to be a nuisance.”

Now it’s Jensen who can’t hide a gleeful smirk.

“I wouldn’t be that happy if I were you,” Manners admonishes him sternly. “This is not a good thing, Jensen. You have to understand this is a battle you can’t win. You already lost. What your people are doing… it’s not going to change anything. We could easily march all our legions up there, slaughter the entire country. Actually, that’s exactly what Commander Heyerdahl wants Kripke to do.”

Cold fear washes over Jensen like an avalanche, freezing him in place. “You can’t do that.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him,” Manners agrees. “That’s what Jared here’s been telling him. And luckily for you, so has the majority of the Council. That's why Kripke’s given your country one last chance before proceeding to more drastic measures. It all depends now on how fast your people start to behave themselves.”

Silence follows, heavy and meaningful, with both Manners and Jared regarding Jensen curiously.

Nervous, Jensen fights the urge to fidget under their scrutiny. “Why… Why are you telling me this?”

Manners and Jared exchange a glance. Manners gives a slight nod.

Jared places two fingers under Jensen’s chin, tipping his head up, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Jensen,” he says, “how would you like the chance to go home?”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Tell me this is a joke. Please, tell me it’s just a joke.”

Jensen’s silence, together with the defeated slope of his shoulders, is answer enough. Mackenzie thinks she’s never seen him look so small, and she wants to reach out and touch him, offer some comfort, but weak as she suddenly feels, those few steps she'd be required to take from the bed to where he’s slumped into a chair seem like an impossible distance.

She should have seen this coming, what with the random pieces of information from Chad and Jensen and the rumors from the household slaves, should have put two and two together… but she hasn’t, and clearly neither has Jensen.

Jensen throws a quick glance at her, then directs his gaze back to the floor.

Minutes pass.

It’s Mackenzie who gathers the courage to speak first, even though she’s not entirely sure she's ready to hear Jensen's answer. She won't get any more ready than this though, of that she is certain. “When are you leaving?”

He starts at the sound of her voice, as if he’d forgotten she’s even there. “In a week. We’re leaving in a week.”

She closes her eyes, slowly counts to ten, opens them again. “Good. That’s… that’s good. At least it’s not tomorrow, right?”

He gives a jerky nod. “They said they have to take care of some things here before they set out. More meetings with Kripke and the Council, deciding on the best strategy, that kind of thing.”

“And… how long will you be gone?”

Jensen’s shoulders slump even more; he’s practically trying to disappear into his chair. “I don’t know. Until the atmosphere in the Kingdom becomes less explosive, I guess. Or until Jared’s transferred elsewhere. Whichever comes first.”

“Oh.”

“But you’ll hear from me,” he offers like a consolation prize. “Jared promised we can write to each other and the letters will be delivered together with his personal correspondence, so at least there’s that.”

The bed squeaks when Mackenzie shifts her weight, leaning forward slightly. Her hands are still trembling. “Can’t you… can’t you talk to Jared about it again? Make him change his mind?”

Jensen shakes his head and laughs, and it’s a bitter, hollow sound. “Don’t you think I tried?”

“Well, maybe if you told him–“

“Told him what, exactly? That I’m not going anywhere unless you are too?” Jensen throws up his hands. “Jared’s the one who calls the shots, not me. And he’s not an idiot. He knows taking me home is dangerous enough as it is, and without keeping you here as leverage I’d definitely try my luck at escaping. We both would. So no, he’s not taking you with us.”

“But–“

“I begged him, you hear me? I dropped to my knees and begged, but he said no!” He's almost shouting now, but doesn't seem aware of it. “I fucking begged and pleaded with him, and he still said no. You’re staying here.”

She thinks about it, weighs their options. “Fine. But you have to try it anyway.”

He blinks, uncomprehending. “Try what?”

“Escape.”

He rubs his hand over his face. “Kenzie…”

“No, listen to me. This,” she taps the slave collar tattooed around her neck, “it doesn’t mean the same thing at home. If you manage to get away, our people will help you, they’ll cover you. You have a real chance to avoid recapture.”

“Yes, I probably do.” His stare is hard and uncompromising when he finally meets her eyes. “But I’m not going to do it.”

“Because I’d get punished? Jared won’t have me killed; he can’t lose the best bargaining chip he’s got.” She doesn’t like to think of herself that way, but essentially it’s exactly what she is. “So what is he gonna do to me, huh? Make me become a pleasure slave just like he wanted right from the beginning? Like it’s been done to countless others, to you? I know it’s bad–”

“Oh no, believe me, you _don’t_ know,” Jensen assures her. She’s made him angry now, she can tell from how cold and flat his voice is, from his white-knuckled fists. “You have _no idea_ how bad it is. No idea.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but ultimately anything she’d say would be a lie. The closest she ever got to what Jensen is talking about was standing naked on that platform and waiting to be sold to the highest bidder, and while that experience was traumatizing enough that it still stars in the majority of her nightmares, it's nothing compared to what Jensen had to go through... has to go through on a daily basis. She can't even begin to imagine what that must be like.

“You have no idea,” Jensen repeats when he sees her surrender; not victorious, just tired, the anger seeping out of him as quickly as it appeared. “And I’m gonna make sure you never will.”

Mackenzie hates this, painfully hates being the leash around Jensen’s neck that Jared can use to make Jensen do whatever he wants. But it’s not like she’d have the heart to actually do anything to put herself in danger, she couldn’t do that to her brother, not when he’s already given up so much for her, so all she can do now is nod minutely and offer him a faint smile. It’s a thank you that remains unspoken but he hears it nonetheless, returning a tiny, thankful smile of his own before ducking his head.

Again, it's Mackenzie who breaks the silence. “So if you’re not planning an escape… what _are_ you going to do? Play along, give the occupants a friendly face?”

“You know I’ll try to do more than that. But for now, I guess I will have to play along, like you said. At least for a while. Keep stalling.”

“Stalling?” That sounds promising.

Jensen stands up, crosses the room and joins her on the bed, scooting back until he’s leaning against the wall, and Mackenzie follows him, resting her head on his shoulder as he starts explaining. “Look, we can’t risk another open war with the Empire, they’ll bring their entire army north and burn the Kingdom to ashes. We have to make them think we’re finally giving up. Make them complacent, careless. And then we’ll have to wait.”

“For you to take over and free the country?”

The soft, amused chuckle he lets out is the most sincere she’s heard in a while, even though it's tinted with sadness too. “No, Kenzie, I don’t think that’s possible. They’ll be watching me too closely for that.”

“So what are we going to wait for then? A miracle?” Because she stopped believing in those the day she watched her parents' blood paint the grey cobblestones of Hengstenfurt’s main square red.

“Kind of. We're waiting for Steve and Jason.”

“But they’re dead.” The image of Jensen’s grief-stricken face when he learned his two closest friends were murdered is another one that Mackenzie will never be able to erase from her memory.

“No, it turns out that was only a disinformation spread by the Empire.” Jensen nods in confirmation when she stares at him incredulously. “Apparently they escaped the assassins sent after them and they’ve been in hiding ever since. Seems like they haven’t left the country though.”

She immediately understands what he’s getting at. “You think they’re the ones organizing the resistance.”

“Of course they are. And I’m afraid right now it’s up to them, Kenzie.”

His tone makes it clear Jensen believes it should be solely up to _him_ instead, which is a big pile of horseshit, as Ty would say. He doesn’t have to carry all the weight on his shoulders by himself. But ever since Josh died over ten years ago and Jensen became the oldest son and successor to the throne, carrying all the weight was exactly what he’s been taught to do, so Mackenzie doesn’t expect anything she might have to say on this particular matter to fall on fertile ground.

Jensen sighs, long and heavy. “Unfortunately, all I can do to help is try to temper the Empire’s aggression towards our people, serve as a mediator, make sure there are no pointless conflicts, no deaths that could be prevented. Minimize the damage.”

Which sounds fairly reasonable to Mackenzie, given the poor choices Jensen has, but it might not seem that way to everyone. “You realize what that’s going to look like to our people? They’ll perceive it as the acts of a traitor.”

“I know,” he doesn’t even attempt to sugarcoat it. “But I can’t think about that. It doesn’t matter; I have to do what I can to help. I don’t care if they call me a collaborator and a traitor in our history books, I only care that we _have_ our own history books.”

“But that’s horrible. And unfair.”

Jensen doesn’t raise any objection to that, just pulls her closer and offers her one of his big, confident smiles that say _don’t worry, we're gonna be alright_.

She ducks her head, feeling vaguely guilty because she's can't quite believe him anymore, not after everything.

  

***

 

It is a commonly known fact that Time is a mischievous creature, capricious and volatile, always doing the exact opposite of what it should be, so it comes as no surprise that while normally the days at the Padalecki mansion drag on endlessly, minutes feeling like long hours, now minutes become hours and hours become days far too quickly, the day of Jensen’s departure approaching way too fast.

Mackenzie does her best not to think about it that way and instead tries to enjoy the remaining time that she and Jensen have together, but it proves to be a superhuman task.  Whatever she’s doing, the knowledge that in only seven days (six, five, four…) Jensen will be gone is always there, lurking just around the corner, tainting every moment she spends with Jensen and effectively driving her insane.

It’s a whole new level of stress that neither of them has been prepared for and although Mackenzie’s not proud to admit it, they’re not always handling it very well. 

*

“You’re already leaving again?”

“Yes, I am. Do we have to argue about this?” Jensen looks exhausted, and after the sparring session he just got back from he probably is, but that only serves to add more fuel to Mackenzie’s flame.

“Why does he have to usurp you all the time?”

Raking his fingers through his sweat-damp hair and unknowingly making it stick up at funny angles, Jensen lets out a frustrated huff of air. “You know why. He wants me to be present at the dinner he’s having with Manners. My knowledge of the Kingdom might be useful.”

She resists the urge to scoff. Barely. “Really? Do you honestly think Jared wants you there because you could offer some advice?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what.” She’s seen them at one of those ‘strategy-planning’ meetings several days ago, outside in the garden pavilion – Jared and Manners talking about something she couldn’t hear while Jensen knelt at Jared’s feet, obediently opening his mouth and eating pieces of food out of Jared’s hand like a perfectly trained, docile pet. The sight made her stomach roll and her blood boil, and even now the memory sickens her. “He just doesn’t want to let his favorite eye candy out of his sight.”

Jensen flinches at that, but stands his ground. “Come on, you’re being unfair now. Jared really wants to make sure things run as smoothly as possible.”

“How noble.”

He blows out an exasperated breath. “Don’t you get it? He wants to stop the bloodshed just like we do. I don’t see what’s so wrong with that!”

“He’s Jared Padalecki, that’s what’s wrong!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. At least he’s not bent on making everyone’s life a living hell like Heyerdahl is. If I do this right, working with Jared might actually make things better for the Kingdom.”

And Mackenzie simply can’t stand it anymore; she snaps. “Fine, if he’s such a bright and wonderful person, then go with him. Go! Sometimes I think you actually _want_ to be with him, it’s like you’re in love with him already!”

She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth, but before she gets a chance to start apologizing Jensen is standing in front of her, intimidating as he towers over her. She’s always found his tall, broad-shouldered figure comforting because so far he’s only ever used his size for her protection, but now she’s suddenly acutely, uncomfortably aware how dangerous he is. Jensen’s never made her feel that way before, never looked at her with so much anger that calling it anything but rage would be an understatement.

Mackenzie finds herself taking a step back, actually _scared_ of him. Scared of her own brother. Jensen notices, and if this were any other day he’d be apologizing for that already, but clearly she went too far this time. “I don’t ever want to hear that again,” his words cut through her, cold and clipped, and then he’s turning on his heel, striding away.

The door slams behind him and she’s left alone, legs unsteady, heart hammering in her chest, the reality of her horrible, stupid, hurtful words slowly sinking in.

Gods, what has she done?

*

It’s only late at night that Jensen comes back, and he doesn’t utter a single word, doesn’t even look Mackenzie’s way, just heads straight for the bed closer to the door - the bed that always stays empty because they sleep much better when they’re together.

Not tonight.

And Mackenzie deserves the cold shoulder treatment, she knows she does, but it still hurts. It hurts almost as much as the knowledge that maybe she’s gone too far this time and Jensen won’t be able to forgive her and then he’ll have to leave and she might never see him again.

Jensen’s the only family she has left, and soon she might never see him again.

In the quiet dark of the room, Mackenzie presses her face into the pillow to muffle her sobs.

The pillow must not be doing a very good job because not long after she starts crying, Mackenzie can hear soft footfalls and then the hard mattress dips and Jensen is there, gathering her in his arms, warm and strong and safe as always.

“Damn it, Kenzie. Can’t even stay pissed at you,” he murmurs into her ear, hand rubbing soothing circles over her back.

But that’s not how it’s supposed to go, so she takes several deep, calming breaths, waiting until she’s more or less functional and then determinedly wriggles out of his hold. Because this isn’t about her taking comfort from Jensen, it’s not about her at all.

“Jensen, I’m s- so sorry,” she stutters out, desperately willing him to _see_ that she means every single word that she stumbles over in her clumsy attempt to make things right again. “What I said to you… That was stupid, and wrong, and you know I didn’t really mean any of that, don’t you? I wasn’t thinking straight, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I was hurt and scared and I get so mean when I’m scared and I said it to hurt you… but I didn’t mean it, I know you’re only letting Jared do this to you because of me and I should be grateful for that, I _am_ grateful, and I’m sorry, Jensen, I’m so sorry for what I said to you. I’m so sorry.”

The fact that Jensen doesn’t cut her off but listens, soaking up her words like parched ground soaks up the first rain, only proves how deeply she wounded him, and she does her best to fix the damage, apologizing over and over again, until she runs out of words and falls silent, waiting for Jensen’s verdict.

Jensen takes his time, and his answer is far from anything Mackenzie would have expected: “See, this is exactly why I need you.”

“So I can make you miserable by being a mean bitch?”

“You weren’t bein–“ He pauses, shakes his head. “No, not that. I need you to keep me going when I get tired, when I get lost, when I forget.” He grabs her by the arms, fingers digging into her flesh painfully as he searches her eyes with an almost frantic expression. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Uh… okay?”

“I need you to remember who you are. Remember that you’re Mackenzie Ackles, daughter of a king and a free woman, no matter what anyone else has to say. Don’t settle for anything less, because you have the right to want more from life and you _should_ want it. Don’t lose that fighting spirit, that fire burning inside you. It’s really important. Promise me you’ll never forget who you are.”

The pleading urgency of his voice is disconcerting. “Jensen, you’re scaring me. Why are you telling me this, what’s going on?”

Jensen bites his lip and doesn’t answer, eyes darting away.

“Jensen?”

When he speaks, it’s reluctant and full of pauses, as if Jensen’s not sure he should be telling her this. “Listen, what you said about me and Jared… In a way, you weren’t entirely wrong.” He pauses, a deep frown settling over his features. “Jared, he has this… I don’t know, charm, strength of conviction, charisma, whatever you want to call it. And I hate what he’s done to us, to me, but…”

“But?” She prompts, putting on her best supportive, non-judgmental face.

“But I don’t think I can hate _him_.”

Well, she definitely has enough hate towards Jared for the both of them. “So what does that mean? You love him?”

“What?” He appears genuinely taken aback now. “No, I… come on, Kenzie! No! I just…” He makes a strange waving gesture with his hand, trying to find the right words. “I don't know how he did it, but he's got under my skin. I’m getting used to being around him. Working with him. It’s almost effortless, easy. Like I know what he’s gonna say or do even before he does it.”

“Hey, that doesn’t actually sound so bad,” she interposes, feeling a bit like she’s defending Jensen from himself now. “I mean, you’re gonna have to work with him a lot when you get back home. This… connection you two have, it can be useful.”

“Yeah.” But he doesn’t look particularly convinced or comforted.

 

***

 

As the day when Jensen has to leave draws near, Mackenzie feels more and more like a convict awaiting execution, and when the night falls – the last one she’ll get to spend in Jensen’s company in who knows how long – she has a very clear idea of how she wants to spend it.

“I don’t wanna go to sleep tonight.”

Jensen doesn’t ask why, and doesn’t seem surprised. If anything, he looks almost relieved, as if he’s been secretly thinking the same thing but didn’t dare say it out loud.

“C’mere,” is what he does say, tugging until she settles on the bed next to him, head resting on his chest, and they breathe together in the quiet of the night.

Tomorrow night, she'll be here alone.

“Hey, Jensen?” Mackenzie whispers, voice breaking, because she did her best to escape the horrible, oppressing fear that’s been following her around the past week, battling it with faked indifference, loud, forced laughter or fits of meanness, but now it’s caught up with her, sunk its teeth into her flesh and suddenly she can’t fight it anymore. “What am I supposed to do, all alone?”

Jensen doesn’t reply right away, but acknowledges her question by tightening the grip of his arm around her. “You have friends here, people who care about you. Alona, Sam, Chris, they’ll look after you. _You_ will look after yourself; you’re strong and smart, much better at this than I am."

"I'm not," she protests, and it's not out of false modesty.

"You are," Jensen insists, voice warm with pride. "You never lose sight of what's important. You're very passionate and uncompromising about what's right and what's wrong. And you're stubborn like a mule."

"I thought you hated that about me."

"Nah, only when you're being a difficult little brat refusing to listen to your older brother even though he always knows what's best for you."

"Oh, come on, like you listen to your own advice!"

"Well, I'm an exception to the rule."

Mackenzie rolls her eyes. "Really? That's you're excuse? You're unbelievable."

He's laughing, his chest vibrating with it under her head. "Damn right I am. One of a kind."

"Extraordinary," she adds readily. "Unlike any other. Full of surprises."

"Of course," Jensen agrees with the fake smugness he can play so well when he wants to. "In fact," he pushes her off him and sits up, "I've got a surprise for you right here." He moves away, reaching underneath the bed and pulling out something small and wrapped in a piece of cloth. "Almost forgot about it."

“What is it?” She takes the bundle from his hands, watching it mistrustfully.

He shifts, scratches the top of his head, a nervous gesture. “I, uh… it was supposed to be for your birthday, but that’s still almost a month away and I figured you should have it now. It’s… Go on, open it already.”

She unwraps the present, then frowns in puzzlement. “Jensen, what is this?”

“It’s a teddy-bear.”

“No, it’s not.” It looks more like a squashed starfish.

“Well, it looked better in my head!” Jensen’s getting flustered now, and it’s so adorable that Mackenzie has to bite her lip in order not to laugh. “Alona offered to help me, but I wanted to make it by myself, and… okay, I admit, I’m not really that good at needlecraft, but…”

Mackenzie gives up trying to remain stoic and bursts out laughing. Jensen manages to look offended for about five seconds and then he’s laughing too.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out once she finds her composure again, drying her tears with the back of her hand. “I appreciate the effort, I really do.”

“It’s stupid,” Jensen says, back to sulking.

“No, it’s not! It’s… very original.” She looks at the stuffed thing again, then at Jensen. “It’s something from you, something personal to remember you by while you’re gone, and I…” Tears spring to her eyes again and she throws herself into his arms, the unfortunate teddy-bear still clutched in one hand. “Thank you, Jensen.”

She can feel him smile against her neck. “You’re welcome.”

“Now I only feel bad for not giving you something to remember me by, too.”

“But I do have something to remember you by.”

“What’s that?”

Jensen takes Mackenzie’s hand in his, placing it on his forehead, a little to the left and just beneath his hairline, where her fingers find the ridge of an old scar, a result of an accident caused by Mackenzie’s enthusiasm with a bronze candlestick when she was three, maybe four years old. “I have this.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Sure I am,” he replies fondly, and hugs her tighter.

They stay like that for a long while, and then they settle back into the pillows.

“Jensen?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me a story.”

“Like the ones Mom used to tell us when we were kids?”

“Mhmm.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“Alright. But I’m not sure I remember them right, so you’ll have to help me out, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Fine.” Jensen pauses, deciding which story to start with. “Once upon a time, there lived a girl named Betsy, who became an orphan when she was only seven years old.”

“Eight.”

“Only eight years old,” Jensen rectifies his mistake. “And since she had no other family in the village where she lived, she decided to go to her aunt who lived across the forest. She set out in the afternoon, having nothing more than the plain dress she was wearing and a small loaf of bread her poor godfather had given to her. As she walked down the forest path, she met a beggar. ‘I’m so hungry, little girl, don’t you have some food to spare?’ he asked. Betsy gave him her bread without hesitation, and after the beggar thanked her, they went their separate ways…”

With a content sigh, Mackenzie snuggles up closer to him and shuts her eyes, listening to the stories of her childhood, one after another. Presented in Jensen’s voice, they are familiar and comforting, like a lullaby, like safety, like home.

“Kenzie. Kenzie, it’s time to wake up.”

Startled and disoriented, she bolts up, squinting at the light – light? – pouring in through the window, and looks around the room. Her heart sinks once she realizes what happened, and she turns to glare at Jensen as murderously as she can, considering that she’s just woken up. “Why’d you let me fall asleep?”

“Let’s go, we’ll be late for breakfast,” Jensen replies, avoiding her question, and normally Mackenzie would give him a good dressing-down for letting her oversleep, but since this is their last morning together, she lets it slip and instead gets out of bed and gets ready to go in what must probably be her record time.

Breakfast is a rush. Everyone around the table is trying to say their goodbye to Jensen, so neither him nor Mackenzie get a chance to eat in peace, and as precious minutes of time pass, the knot in the pit of Mackenzie’s stomach is constantly growing until she feels like she’s going to be sick any moment now.

Of course Jensen knows, and tries to calm her down with comforting smiles and soothing touches, but it’s not working anymore, not when one of Jared’s personal slaves comes in to inform Jensen that it’s time to go, not when Jensen stands up and nods. Mackenzie follows him back to their room, leaning against the doorframe for support as she watches Jensen shoulder the small bag containing the few items of clothing and personal hygiene he’s been given here, and then he’s walking out and through the corridors, to the courtyard which is buzzing with people, carriages and horses, the typical commotion that is always bound to set in before a big journey begins.

Jensen uses the last moments to obsessively repeat everything he considers important, from “Don't skimp on the morning exercise” and “I want you to eat properly, you need to keep your strength" through “Chad may act like a friend but you can't really trust him” to “Remember who you are” and, finally, “Please stay out of trouble”.

It’s becoming ridiculous. “Jensen, I’ll be fine, would you please stop worrying?”

“I’m your older brother, it’s my constitutional right to worry about my little sister.”

“He’s right, you know,” chimes in a new voice – it’s Jared, winking at Mackenzie conspiratorially as he appears seemingly out of nowhere. “Unfortunately, we’re leaving now. You have one minute to say goodbye, Jensen,” he calls over his shoulder before he walks away. “Don’t make me wait.”

So this is it.

Not wasting the time they’ve been given, Jensen steps forward, pulling Mackenzie into a crushingly tight but devastatingly brief hug. He draws back far too soon, cupping Mackenzie’s face in his hands and resting his forehead on hers. “This isn’t goodbye,” he promises, kissing the top of her head, and then he’s pulling up to his full height, squaring his shoulders, turning around and striding away without looking back.

Jared is waiting for him in front of the first carriage, and he slides his arm possessively around Jensen’s waist as they climb inside. The coachman whistles at the pair of horses and the carriage jerks into movement. The rest of the suite follows, and soon they’re out of the gate and out of sight.

Mackenzie can see the rest of the Padalecki family standing at the opposite side of the courtyard, Jared’s sister and mother in tears and his father and brother more stoic, but their faces drawn in worry nevertheless. Watching a loved one leave is always difficult, but it’s even worse to watch them leave not knowing when – or _if_ – they’ll ever be coming back.

“He’s gone,” Mackenzie whispers in horror, as the tears she somehow managed to hold back the entire morning for Jensen’s sake finally start to fall. Her knees buckle, threatening to give under her, but to her surprise, she doesn’t end up on the ground.

“Hey, darlin', it’s gonna be alright,” comes Chris’ easy drawl as his strong hands steady her. “If there’s one thing I learned about you Ackles folks, it’s that you’re tough as leather. Jensen’s gonna be fine.”

“I’m sure he is,” Alona joins them, with Samantha standing right beside her, and Ty peeking over Samantha’s shoulder, looking uncharacteristically serious. “Come on, Kenzie, let’s get you inside, okay?”

Like a small child or a puppet, Mackenzie lets her friends lead her back into her room (only hers, not hers and Jensen’s anymore), lets them sit her on the bed, then watches as Alona shoos everyone away and they shuffle out of the room with slightly awkward but sincere, compassionate smiles that Mackenzie isn’t really able to appreciate, let alone reciprocate right now.

When the door closes behind them and they’re left alone, Alona puts her hand over Mackenzie’s and squeezes gently. “I’m with you,” she says softly. “I’m here.”

*

The following days go by without Mackenzie really taking notice of what is happening around her; she’s simply going through the motions. She keeps to herself, doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then her answers are usually just nods or shakes of her head, or monosyllabic words at best.

Alona and Samantha try to get her to open up, Richard goes through his entire repertoire of jokes and anecdotes in an attempt to make her laugh, Chris patiently sits next to her during every meal, making sure she eats everything on her plate, claiming to be acting on Jensen’s orders.

Mackenzie doesn’t protest, doesn’t care. Nothing seems to bring her out of the stupor she’s fallen into, out of the numbness she lives in now. Not that she minds. She likes the numbness.

In the end – and Jensen is going to hate this once he hears about it – it’s Chad who manages to strike the first light of life from her, and he succeeds at that by being absolutely obnoxious and saying the worst, rudest things about slaves and their lack of rights and humanity and Mackenzie simply can’t help reacting. It’s only in the middle of her impassioned, righteous lecture that she realizes her companion is grinning.

“Did you…” She pauses in their stroll across the courtyard, stopping in front of Chad, hands on her hips. “Did you do this on purpose? Say all that to get me angry?”

Not even trying to defend himself, Chad shrugs. “Well, it’s working, isn’t it? You’re finally acting more like yourself again. Fire and fury and all that.”

 _Remember who you are_ , Jensen made her promise. And she was already working on forgetting.

Ashamed, she bends her head and closes her eyes.

“Mackenzie?” Chad sounds worried.

Everyone around her seems worried lately. Everyone is concerned for her well-being, asking if she’s okay, if she needs help, if there’s anything they can do for her. And locked up in her lifeless, emotionless world, it has never even occurred to Mackenzie to pose the same questions to them, to see if they are okay, if there’s anything she could do for _them_.  

But that’s not who Mackenzie Ackles is. That’s not how she was raised, that’s not how she was taught to treat the people around her, her friends. If Jensen could see her now, he’d be disappointed in her. But more importantly, she is disappointed in herself.

So she’s ending this, right here, right now.

Mackenzie takes a deep breath, lets it fill her with the strength and determination Jensen keeps complimenting her on, straightens her back, stands up taller and opens her eyes to face the world again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of Jared in this chapter – I promise there’ll be lots of him in the next one :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should probably put up another author’s note, because I realize what I’m doing with the story might seem somewhat unorthodox, and I don't want you guys to wait for something that will not come.
> 
> What I said earlier still holds – don’t expect any dramatic resolutions, governments overthrown, major characters killed etc. The situation the Ackles kingdom is in is pretty dire and I don’t believe there is a quick, easy fix, so you won’t see one. So that’s a warning for those of you who were hoping for some kind of satisfaction in the form of Jensen getting his revenge and Jared (or the Empire) getting his comeuppance.
> 
> Also, once again, I apologize for taking so long to update. May it be your consolation that this is probably the longest chapter yet :)

“Would you stop doing that?”

Jensen blinks. “Stop doing what?”

“That,” Jared points at Jensen’s knee, bouncing up and down like it’s been doing for the past ten, maybe fifteen minutes. “It’s driving me crazy.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Not two minutes later, Jensen's knee is bouncing again, and Jared feels like banging his head against the wall.

Jensen’s been acting weird ever since they left the City, although it started out subtle and only grew into this over the course of the past week and a half.

When they were still traveling through the Empire, Jensen was just taciturn and withdrawn, which Jared attributed to Jensen missing his sister and worrying about her. Then came several days of unnatural stillness. When they entered the Northern Province – the Empire’s second latest conquest – that stillness became edginess, with Jensen twitchy, constantly gnawing on his lip and looking around with spooked eyes. And now that they’re approaching the borders of the Northmost Province, Jensen’s become nearly insufferable. Wriggling in his seat, unable to keep still, to keep his nervousness to himself.

Jared thinks he’s never seen him more upset – not when Jensen and his last troops surrendered to the Imperial army almost six months ago, not when Jensen stood bound and naked on that platform to be sold to the highest bidder, not even before Jared fucked him for the first time.

Not that Jared blames him. Jensen is in a most unenviable situation – coming home to the country that once was his, the country that he protected with all he had but ultimately failed. Coming home as a slave of those who subjugated his nation and murdered his family, and he’s returning with the task of helping complete that subjugation.

Jared definitely wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.

That’s why he’s been so patient and understanding so far, even trying to offer words of comfort and encouragement several times, attempting to calm Jensen down at least a bit. Partly because to his surprise, Jared doesn’t really like seeing Jensen so far out of his element, and partly because Jensen’s anxiety is highly contagious.

Because, let’s face it, it’s not going to be a walk in the park for Jared either. This is the first assignment given to him that isn’t strictly military, so it’s a completely new territory – and what’s even worse, for the first time in his life he doesn’t have Chad there with him to watch his back and make sure he doesn’t screw up. And that’s just it: Jared absolutely _can’t_ screw this up. He can’t afford any display of weakness or uncertainty; no hesitation, no mistake, not even the smallest slip-up.

Which means he has to prevent Jensen from becoming a complete nervous wreck before he turns into one too.

The problem is that outside of dealing with his men, Jared isn’t particularly good at comforting people, and he definitely isn’t good at comforting _Jensen_. Hell, most of the time they spent together, he’s been trying to put him off his stride, take him out of his comfort zone.

Still, no one can fault him for lack of trying.

As expected, making conversation isn’t a particularly successful way of distracting Jensen. Physical activity helps though, so they spend a lot of time in the saddle and run or spar whenever they can. Another thing that seems to do the trick is treating Jensen like a fellow soldier on the eve of battle – when Jared puts on his stern face and uses his commanding voice to bark orders like “Get a grip!” or “I need you to stay focused now”, Jensen reacts on instinct, snapping to attention. But even then, the forced calmness never lasts long.

Ironically, what works the best at putting Jensen at ease is the same thing Jared used to do to achieve the exact opposite – sex. Jensen seems to welcome it every time Jared hints at it; sometimes he even initiates it himself, eagerly getting to his knees or dropping his pants any chance they get. If Jared didn’t know it was all just a means for Jensen to forget, the enthusiasm would be downright flattering.

“Hey,” he nudges Jensen in the shin with the tip of his boot, “instead of biting your lips bloody, why don’t you put that mouth to better use?”

Jensen is sliding off his seat and settling between Jared’s legs before Jared even finishes the sentence, opening the front of Jared’s pants with fingers that are slightly shaky but grow surer as they go.

Jared is soft when Jensen takes him out – this is their third time today, and Jared’s only human – but he starts to fill up soon under Jensen’s skillful touch. “Take your time,” he orders, and when the carriage bumps on the unevenly paved road, he hastens to add, “Watch the teeth.”

Jensen shoots him an annoyed glance that says _I know what I’m doing_ and then his full attention is back on Jared’s cock, like it’s the only thing in the universe and there’s nothing on Jensen’s mind except getting Jared off.

He’s come a long way from the inexperienced man who gave Jared those first clumsy, tentative blowjobs, and Jared wonders whether Jensen is aware of that change, and what he must think of it. What he must think of himself.

 

***

 

Early in the afternoon on the fourteenth day of the journey, they reach the mountain pass that serves as south entrance to the former Ackles kingdom.

As soon as they cross the borders, Jensen’s demeanor changes completely – snap of the fingers quick, like magic. Gone is the tension and edginess, gone are the hunched shoulders and bowed head, gone is the fidgeting. Jensen sits up straight, leaning out of the window and watching the landscape like a hawk. Cataloguing, taking stock of damages done to his motherland, eyes roving around, jumping from one spot to another. Assessing, memorizing, thinking. Plotting.

And Jared knows Jensen hasn’t given up on his country yet, not by a long shot; actually, he’s come to accept that Jensen might never fully give up. Yet the fact that he has the audacity to show it so openly, without making even the slightest effort to hide it, is a little bit disconcerting.

As is the fact that to Jared, the sight of Jensen’s reinvigorated fighting spirit, the fire rekindled and burning bright in Jensen’s eyes, still inspires delight and excitement more than anything else.

*

Last time Jared was here, it was in the middle of a raging war and he didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings, his mind in soldier mode, all thoughts directed to matters of strategy, provisions or transport and none spared to beauty. He gets to fix that now, finally having the chance to appreciate the country he helped conquer.

The first thing he notices is that nothing is as extreme here as in the Empire: no great mountains or rivers so wide you can barely see the other side, no deserts so vast that they could swallow entire armies. Everything is smaller, more down to the human scale. Cozy, one would be tempted to say.

Also, unlike the Empire, where you could ride for days and the scenery would still remain the same, the Northmost Province is much more diverse. Aside from the long but not very impressive mountain range (only few peaks are covered in snow all year round) that runs around the entire country, there aren’t many mountains further inland, but the landscape is incredibly varied, different nearly every time Jared opens his eyes after dozing off.

A patchwork of golden fields of ripening corn separated by balks of shrubs and bushes. The brown of beaten pathways connecting the tight clutches of one-story thatched houses that form small, tidy villages. A spatter of sheep and cattle at the base of grass-covered, gently rolling hills. Rapid brooks of clear water and calm, mirror-like surfaces of fishponds with reeds growing along the banks, shivering in the breeze. Majestic forests of beeches and oaks, their thick branches reaching towards the skies like the vault ribbing of the old temples that decorate most squares in the wall-enclosed towns with crooked narrow streets and tall half-timbered buildings with shingled roofs.

It would be peaceful, almost picturesque, if it weren’t for the corpses of men hanged as rebels lining the roads, if it weren’t for the occasional burnt fields and abandoned, run-down houses where people used to live before the war.

Jensen’s expression darkens every time he sees one of those silent witnesses of what his country and his people had to go through, but all in all, his mood is steadily improving. If he was wilting and withering before, now that he’s back on native soil he’s flourishing again, blooming with new life and energy that lights him up from the inside.

He’s full of intent and purpose, and there are moments when Jared almost worries Jensen might actually attempt to escape after all. But he never does. Besides, even if he did, even if he managed to escape and join the resistance movement, it wouldn’t really change anything in the grander scheme of things. The war is already won and there’s nothing the rebels could do to change the outcome – there’s too few of them, and they're at a major disadvantage. Alone, without support from the neighboring countries, the Ackles kingdom is too weak to liberate itself from the domination of a realm as powerful as the Empire.

 

***

 

Jensen also talks more. A _lot_ more. He wastes no opportunity to point out every place of interest that they pass, gesticulating animatedly as he explains why exactly this or that is important or noteworthy, all but beaming with patriotic pride, and Jared finds himself an ardent listener, enthralled by Jensen’s enthusiasm.

He listens, learning more about the country and about Jensen than he has ever before.

*

“That’s Alteburg. Our first ruling dynasty had their seat of power there,” Jensen points a finger at a robust-looking castle rising on a promontory overlooking the river below, and proceeds to spend the next hour or so teaching Jared about the early history of the Ackles kingdom.

*

“Silabar used to be just a small village when my father was young,” Jensen says, nodding towards the large town on the horizon, where temple towers as well as multi-story stone houses rise towards the sky, the picture somewhat spoiled by the unsightly slag heaps and general dirtiness of the town’s vicinity. “Then they struck silver, and now it’s the third largest city in the country.” A lecture on mining in the kingdom follows, accompanied by notes on the evolution of currency and mintage.

*

“You smell that?” Jensen closes his eyes, inhaling deeply as their carriage bumps along the road leading right through the middle of a hop field. “We make the best beer in the world.” He continues by explaining the process of brewing beer in exhaustive detail, like he’s describing something sacred.

*

“That’s Grandfather,” Jensen gives Jared a withering look when Jared pokes fun at the shape of a hill on the horizon. It looks like a scoop of green ice cream. “Legend has it that the first people who came into our land climbed that hill, looked around the country and when they saw its beauty, they decided to stay.” A vivid recounting of some of the local tales and legends keeps Jensen occupied for the next two hours.

*

“This entire region is renowned for its porcelain manufactories,” Jensen remarks.

“And?” Jared prompts.

“And what?”

“You’re not gonna give me a lecture on porcelain making?”

“Oh.” Jensen suddenly appears self-conscious and more than a little lost as he scratches the top of his head, looking anywhere but at Jared. He mutters something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

Jensen huffs. “I never really paid attention to that kind of stuff, okay? Come on, I’m a guy, and it’s chinaware!”

And Jared can’t help it – he bursts into laughter.

“Shut up,” Jensen grumbles, feigning annoyance. But the crinkles around his eyes tell a different story.

 

***

 

There’s a soft knock – the timid, respectful kind that only a properly trained slave can manage.

“Come in,” Jared calls out but then remembers he latched the door after he finally fought off the affectedly obliging innkeeper. Feeling lazy, he adds, “Jensen, would you mind taking care of it?”

Jensen, being Jensen, gives an _if I have to_ shrug and unhurriedly makes his way across the room, walking just the tiniest bit slower than would be strictly acceptable, taking his sweet time before he lets the comer in.

It’s Jared’s personal slave, the only one he took with him besides Jensen. He gives an exemplary bow before stepping towards Jared, holding two sealed envelopes. Mail from the City has arrived.

Jared takes both envelopes, waving them at Jensen. “Look, letters from home are here.”

He starts opening Jensen's first to check that it's safe, and he's just about to dismiss the slave when something occurs to him. “Uh, you… what’s your name?” For as long as he can remember, the slave’s always been there, waiting, ready to serve, always anticipating Jared’s wishes, so Jared's never felt the need to use his name.

The slave just stares at him, bright blue eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Jared sighs impatiently. Is the slave mute? He doesn’t think so, but realizes he also doesn’t recall the man ever talking. A good personal slave gets by without having to talk, Jared’s grandfather liked to say. “I said, what’s your name?”

The slave licks his lips, eyes jumping nervously from Jared to Jensen as if he’s looking for help there. Jensen gives him an encouraging nod and the slave finally speaks: “My name is Misha, Master.”

“Misha,” Jared repeats. He’s not really sure why he asks the next question. “So tell me, Misha, do you have someone in the City? Someone you hold dear?”

Again, Misha is completely at loss for a few moments before he answers. “Yes, Master. My wife and two children.”

Apart from feeling lazy tonight, Jared’s apparently also feeling very generous. “You can write to your family too, if you want. Stay in touch with them.”

“That’s a pretty decent gesture,” Jensen steps in, a hint of honest surprise in his voice. “But not very practical.” When Jared raises a questioning eyebrow, Jensen explains, “Misha can’t read, and neither can Vicki. His wife.”

“Oh. Well,” Jared looks from Jensen, who is watching him expectantly, back to Misha, who just stands there. “Jensen could write the letters for you and his sister could read them to your family, how about that?”

Misha gives a low bow, head down and eyes downcast when he mumbles, “Thank you, Master. Thank you,” as he backs out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Jensen begins to pace in what appears to be agitation.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…  Kenzie and I already offered to write letters for Misha. But he wouldn’t hear of it, because he didn’t have your permission.”

Such loyalty is not at all surprising, but it’s amusing to see that Jensen still can’t wrap his head around it. “He was right to do so. Maybe you should follow his example.”

Jensen completely glosses over that, grimacing as he plops down on the bed. “Seriously, I don’t see what the big deal would be if Mackenzie and I helped Misha stay in touch with his family. Or do you honestly think Misha’s son learning to use the potty is the kind of crucial information that could bring the Empire to its knees?”

Despite himself, Jared chuckles. “No, not really.” He clears his throat and gives Jensen a stern look. “But that’s beside the point. You shouldn’t even _think_ about doing something without my explicit permission.”

“Oh. You know, you never gave me explicit permission to breathe,” Jensen counters in that flip tone he’s taken to using in the past few days. It’s quickly becoming more than just a nuisance and come to think of it, now might be the right time to put a stop to it.

“Careful. Don’t be cheeky with me.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says, sounding anything but.

His previous laziness and reluctance to move forgotten, Jared sits up so he can look down at Jensen. “Listen, you should really start watching that attitude. It can be entertaining in private,” and he loves how Jensen bristles up at that, “but people are watching us here. So from now on, I don’t want to see any show of disrespect.”

“Why? So you can brag about the mindlessly obedient perfect little slave you’ve turned me into?”

“Yes, there’s that,” Jared agrees, because sure, that is part of the plan. “But I also don’t want Heyerdahl to see you like this. You can bet he’d happily jump at the first chance to punish you for the smallest transgression, and believe me – you don’t want that. Anything you had to go through so far can’t even begin to compare to what he does to those who displease him. He outranks me; I can’t protect you from him.”

Jensen’s eyes narrow angrily and Jared can practically hear the _I don’t need your protection_ Jensen doesn’t say out loud. But luckily it seems that Jensen’s taking this seriously, that he’s aware of what exactly is at stake here. “Alright,” he says finally. “I play my part, stay out of Heyerdahl’s focus, and we do what we came here to do.”

“Exactly.” Jared doubts that he and Jensen share the same idea on what it is they came here to do, but he can work on that later – and it’s going to be a very taxing, very long-term project. “So you’ll be good?”

“I’ll be good,” Jensen promises.

Jared shakes his head. “Try again.”

“I’ll be good, Master.”

“That’s better.”

*

When they stop for lunch on what might be their last day on the road if everything goes as planned, Jared can’t quite hide his growing excitement anymore.

“Someone give the overgrown puppy something to play with,” Manners groans, shaking his head, and Jared resolutely ignores the fact that many of his men are laughing in their sleeves.

Not everyone is so carefree and at ease, though. The matronly innkeeper and her two daughters keep their expressions carefully blank, not a hint of hospitality on their faces as they bring beer and set plates of food on the large wooden table, and all the denizens at the other tables watch them with ill-concealed hostility.

Well, not that Jared expected any different. If the people weren’t causing so much trouble, he wouldn’t be here, after all.

Jared doesn’t let the locals and their cold stares take his appetite away and digs into his stew. He still hasn’t gotten entirely used to the taste of food here – something with the spices, he guesses – but it’s food, and all food is good in Jared’s book, so he’s happy. He’s never been a very demanding guy.

He’s just finishing his second beer – and even though he’s more of a wine person, he has to hand it to Jensen; the beer here is great – when a group of boys rushes past their table, hollering and whooping as they run until they reach the cluster of lime trees just off the road. They’re all holding sticks in their hands and the moment they stop running, the tallest boy shouts “Attack!” and a fight breaks out, sticks clashing with sticks, the boys oblivious to everything around them, lost in the heat of the battle.

Jared sits back and enjoys the show, marveling at the fact that no matter what country you’re in, boys who have some free time on their hands will always end up playing soldiers. The fight is over relatively soon, when the same boy who gave the order to attack fake-runs his ‘sword’ through another boy’s heart with a victorious shout of “Die, you rotten snail! Freedom for the Kingdom!”

The victors then help the ‘dead’ boys to their feet, and a hassle starts over who will play who next.

“How come you always get to play Ackles?” One of the boys whines.

The boy whose position is being challenged grins and shrugs nonchalantly. “’Cause I’m the tallest, and everyone knows Jensen Ackles is the tallest and strongest of all warriors. Don’t ask stupid questions, Johan.”

The kids nod their approval, obviously satisfied with the answer, but Johan isn’t done protesting yet. “Okay, so Timothy is Ackles again. But I don’t want to be Heyerdahl anymore.”

“Fine,” Timothy gives a long-suffering sigh. “You can be the one who led the invasion, that Pada-guy.”

“Hey, look, Captain.” Matt, Jared’s new second-in-command, chuckles as he pokes Jared in the ribs. “You’re famous.”

“Yeah,” Jared nods distractedly, his attention on Jensen who has tensed up beside him, worriedly glancing from the kids to Jared and back again. “Relax, Jensen. I’m not gonna punish them for playing.”

“Thank you,” Jensen mutters, but he only relaxes again when Jared turns his head away from the boys who are already in the middle of another battle. Unsurprisingly, the Kingdom’s forces win again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jared catches Jensen watching the boys finish up their game and shuffle away in a disorganized huddle, chirping as they go. There’s so much gentleness and warmth in Jensen’s eyes and in the smile on his lips, so much love for these children Jensen’s never seen before, that it causes another serious pang of doubt in Jared’s mind whether taking Jensen with him was really such a bright idea.

The fact that the smile doesn’t slip away from Jensen’s face the moment his gaze shifts from the boys to Jared does absolutely nothing to quell his concern.

Jensen hasn’t forgotten where his true allegiance lies, and if Jared wants to succeed here, he’d better remember that too.

 

***

 

They reach Hengstenfurt just before noon on the eighteenth day of the journey.

There’s a welcoming committee of Heyerdahl’s men waiting in front of the main gate, but Heyerdahl himself isn’t among them, as if to say _I’ve got work to do here, I’m important, and removing me from my position is a big mistake_.

Jensen slinks back into the shadows of the carriage once they enter the city, not too keen on being seen, since the chance of somebody recognizing him here is much higher than in the countryside. Jared lets him hide for now; the plan is to publicly reveal Jensen’s presence on the day when Heyerdahl ceremonially hands over his position to General Manners.

The carriage bumps along the cobbled streets that weave through the city, and Jared leans out of the window to look outside. From what he can tell at first glance, the townsfolk seem to be quiet, withdrawn, wary. Speaking in hushed tones, never in groups of more than three, and never for more than just a few moments.

It might have something to do with the Imperial soldiers standing at every corner, or with the public notices forbidding the freedom of assembly pasted up on every surface available, or with the pillories and gallows on every square.

The atmosphere here is dreary, oppressing. Even the weather seems to be in foul mood, grey clouds hanging low and heavy over the city, keeping the sun away.

*

Outside, the temple bell strikes two.

Sighing, Jared motions Jensen to refill his glass. At least it’s southern wine from Heyerdahl’s personal collection and not what passes for wine here up north. “He sure likes to keep us waiting.”

“It’s understandable. He has to enjoy the power he holds for as long as he can,” General Manners takes a small sip of his own wine.

Jensen places the decorated cut-glass carafe back on the table and folds himself into the basic kneeling position at Jared’s feet – hands resting palms down on thighs that are slightly apart, back straight, head high but eyes downcast. The ease with which he assumes the position gives false testimony to the amount of practice he’s had at this, and Jared briefly entertains himself by imagining what it would be like if Jensen weren’t merely acting. Oddly enough, the thought doesn’t hold much appeal.

Jared shrugs and sips on his wine.

It takes Heyerdahl another half an hour before he deigns to come, flinging open the double door dramatically. “Gentlemen!” He exclaims, striding towards them energetically, long cloak flying behind him. “Excuse my unpunctuality; there was a matter of vital importance that required my presence.”

Both Jared and Manners stand up to greet the current Governor, exchanging salutes first and then handshakes.

Heyerdahl doesn’t spare a single glance to Jensen’s kneeling figure on the floor. “Shall we sit?” He motions to the table.

Two slaves, male and female, take their positions next to Heyerdahl’s chair. Unlike Jensen, who is wearing a simple linen tunic and pants as protection against the cold of the northern weather, these two are without a stitch on, displaying sickly pale skin covered in ugly bruises and welts, some old and already fading, some new and raw. There is absolutely no life in their eyes, the blankness of their stares a different kind than the one Jared is used to seeing in his own slaves. It’s like there’s absolutely _nothing_ there.

Jensen could’ve been like them, Jared thinks. If it hadn’t been Jared who bought him but Heyerdahl or someone like him, Jensen could have – no, _would have_ – ended up exactly like them. Jared swallows uneasily, feeling sick to his stomach at the mental image of a Jensen who wouldn’t be Jensen anymore.

“…don’t you think, Captain?”

Jared looks up, finding both Manners and Heyerdahl watching him expectantly. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, offering an apologetic smile. “It’s the long journey – I’m tired and a little distracted.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Heyerdahl concedes with an air of patronage, his tone indicating that no, it never happens to _him_. “Anyway, I was saying that it’s high time we squashed this ridiculous rebellion once and for all.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” When Heyerdahl doesn’t seem entirely satisfied, Jared knows he has to try harder, and raises his glass. “To the Empire.”

“To crushing victory,” Heyerdahl downs half of his glass.

“To peace,” adds Manners.

“Now, let’s get down to business,” Heyerdahl snaps his fingers and his male slave practically jumps to his feet to fetch a stack of folders, handing them out to all three men around the table and then getting back to his knees, managing all that without making a sound.

Jared opens the folder, staring at the tables and charts inside. “What’s this?”

“A little overview of the current situation. Go on, take a look.”

The feeling of sickness returns when Jared begins to read, skimming through reports of arrests and interrogations, series of confessions and denunciations extorted by intimidation and torture. He’d known what was going on here, but he had no idea it was this bad. “That’s…”

Heyerdahl is smirking. “As you can see, I’ve done a lot of work here.”

“There’s no denying that,” Manners’ tone is carefully neutral. “Just the logistics of handling so many people must be… extremely complex.”

And maybe that’s the reason behind the resistance’s undying conviction – maybe when people realized they can get arrested and convicted regardless of their actual guilt, they decided that they might as well go down swinging.

Manners must’ve been thinking along the same lines. “It poses one question though – if you and your men are so successful, how come there are any resistance fighters left?”

Heyerdahl makes a sour face, but nods as though he was expecting the question. “It’s a bit baffling, isn’t it? I think deep inside, they actually want to be punished. They’re like a dog that wants to be kicked.”

Slightly worried, Jared risks a discreet glance to his left, catching a glimpse of Jensen’s hard clenched jaw.

“I know you don’t approve of my methods,” Heyerdahl is running his fingers through his beard as he speaks. “You think you can achieve by trickery and bribery what I haven’t achieved so far by terror and fear. But mark my words – the only way of dealing with these people is with the help of a long, hard stick.”

By now, Jensen is grinding his teeth, and Jared prays Heyerdahl won’t be able to hear it over the sound of his own voice as he continues his lecture: “They may act all high and mighty and civilized, they may preach about the wrongness of our ways, they may take the moral high ground… But underneath all that, these people are primitives, barbarians. Animals.”

More than slightly worried now, Jared sneaks his left hand to lay it on Jensen’s shoulder, finding tense, coiled muscles there, a testimony to the effort it takes Jensen just to keep still. He squeezes once, hoping the gesture will ground Jensen, help him remember his place. After a while, the vibrating tension underneath Jensen’s skin eases a little, but since Heyerdahl is still rambling on – now comparing the Ackles people to dogs again, explaining that the only way to teach them new tricks is by beating them into submission – Jared keeps his hand on Jensen, just to be sure.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t escape Heyerdahl’s notice. “You seem to be quite fond of that slave of yours,” he cranes his neck to peek at Jensen with new curiosity.

Inwardly cursing himself for not being inconspicuous enough, Jared attempts a nonchalant shrug. “He’s a good one.”

“Is he now?” Heyerdahl stands up, walking over to Jensen and bending forward as if studying a museum exhibit. Jensen is as still as one, too.

“Oh,” Heyerdahl says suddenly, a smirk appearing on his lips as he straightens up. “It’s him, isn’t it? It’s Jensen Ackles.” He laughs shortly. “I had my eye on him too on that auction, you know. I knew I’d have so much _fun_ breaking him. And then you snatched him right from me, Captain.”

“Well, I’m glad I did,” Jared says before he can stop himself, and hastens to clarify, “he might just be the best purchase I’ve ever made.” Heyerdahl doesn’t have to know he got both siblings for free.

“I don’t doubt that.” Heyerdahl leans forward to study Jensen again, and Jared tightens his grip on Jensen’s shoulder in a fit of possessiveness. “So is he well trained? Obedient?”

“Absolutely,” Jared lies through his teeth, and since it’s pretty clear Jensen’s doomed to be at the center of Heyerdahl’s attention now anyway, he can’t resist adding, “I didn’t even have to beat him into submission. A little positive reinforcement was all it took.”

“And you’re hoping to achieve the same with the rest of his people. Interesting,” muses Heyerdahl. “But excuse me if I don’t take your word for it. How about a little demonstration?”

Jared’s heart plummets like a lead weight. Luckily Manners intervenes, rubbing his face with his hands tiredly. “Is this truly necessary, Commander? Don’t we have more pressing issues here?”

Anger flashes over Heyerdahl’s face. “Do I have to remind you that you’re not the Governor yet, General? Or that even though you and your clique back in the City froze me out, the Emperor still considers me a _very_ close friend?”

That much is true, and Manners knows it, signaling his resignation by giving a half-shrug and then ostentatiously turning his head to look away.

“Smart choice. You would do well not to displease me.” Heyerdahl turns back to Jared. “Now, Captain. That demonstration?”

There’s no way around it. “Fine. Jensen, present yourself for inspection,” Jared orders, and prays to every god he knows that Jensen won’t choose this moment to act up. And that he remembers the slave training lessons Jared’s been giving to him with Misha’s help in the past few days.

The gods must be in Jared’s favor today after all, because Jensen plays his role perfectly, getting up and stripping quickly. His face is expressionless as he takes several steps back into open space and assumes the required position: feet shoulder-width apart, fingers laced behind the back of his neck, posture straight. There’s a split second where he keeps his eyes front as if he were standing at attention, but he corrects the mistake before anyone notices, lowering his eyes to the floor.

“So far so good,” Heyerdahl admits as he walks up to Jensen. “I must say he’s a most exquisite specimen.”

Although Jared hates the way Heyerdahl says that – as if there was nothing more to Jensen than his appearance – he has to agree that the position Jensen’s in is ideal for showcasing all of his numerable assets. The long, elegant line of his neck, the breadth of his shoulders, the lean arms and toned torso, the soft cock hanging between powerful, muscled thighs. The broad back, the sinuous curve of where back becomes that deliciously firm ass.

No wonder Heyerdahl is devouring Jensen with his eyes now, drinking in every inch of him. He’s circling Jensen, but coming closer and closer, drawn in by the pull of that indefinable _something_ that makes Jensen so hard to resist.

He finally stops in front of Jensen, looming over him the same way only Jared does, to study Jensen’s face. “Exquisite,” he repeats.

And Jensen is, but something’s missing. It takes Jared a while to realize that it’s the way Jensen’s intelligent eyes hold his challengingly, sometimes narrowed in anger, sometimes sparkling with amusement, sometimes dark with desire. It’s the way Jensen’s lips twist in disapproval or open wide on a pleasured moan. It’s the way Jensen’s alive and unique and _Jensen_.

None of that is here now though, and Jared feels a ridiculous deal of gratification at the knowledge that Heyerdahl will never get to see any of it.

Meanwhile, Heyerdahl raises his hand to Jensen’s face. “Now let’s see if you really have him so well trained. Let’s see if your dog bites.”

Holding onto the armrests of his chair so tightly that the wood creaks, Jared struggles to swallow the jealous possessiveness, the urge to scream _Get your hands off him!_ that is bubbling up inside him because now Heyerdahl is tracing the contours of Jensen’s face, gripping his chin to tilt his head up and down, even ordering to “Open up” and sticking his damn fingers inside Jensen’s mouth.

It goes on forever, Heyerdahl carrying on with his inspection, all the while providing a commentary that is at the same time lecherous and strangely depersonalized, giving the effect of a prospective buyer examining a horse on the market.

Jared is seeing red just from having to watch it happen, but somehow Jensen endures it without batting an eyelid, not when Heyerdahl digs his nails hard into his nipples, not when Heyerdahl’s fingers are slipping between his ass cheeks, not even when Heyerdahl steps up his game and proceeds to hurl the worst possible insults at Jensen, his family and his country.

“Impressive,” Heyerdahl says when he’s finally – finally! – satisfied, having done just about everything short of sticking his dick into Jensen… not that Jared would allow that. “You weren’t lying, Captain, he is remarkably well disciplined.”

“I told you.” Jared’s regaining his composure now that Heyerdahl is keeping his filthy paws to himself and off Jared’s property. “Jensen, you can put your clothes back on.”

“This is an opportunity we shouldn’t miss.” Seated in his chair again, Heyerdahl watches Jensen take his place at Jared’s feet. “His people must see what’s become of their fearless, uncompromising leader. I think a public demonstration would be appropriate. Show this country who Jensen Ackles belongs to.”

“That would be me,” Jared cards his fingers through Jensen’s hair, the need to touch, reassert his ownership too strong to overcome.

“I know that,” Heyerdahl agrees grudgingly. “But symbolically, he belongs to the _Empire._ And everyone should see that. So as acting Governor of the Northmost Province and highest representative of the Empire, I should take him. In public.”

“No way.” It comes out as a growl.

“General Manners, then. As the incoming Governor.”

Manners doesn’t dignify that with an answer, just shakes his head. It is common knowledge that he has never shown any interest in pleasure slaves.

“You fuck him then.”

Well, Jared has no objections to that. “I will,” he assures the Governor, unable to keep a smug smirk off his lips. “Oh, I will. But not like that.”

Crossing his arms on his chest, Heyerdahl frowns. “Why?”

“Simple.” Jared’s been considering this himself so he has his arguments ready. “What you’re proposing does make sense, in a way. If the people see their leader’s humiliation, if they see how low he has sunk, they might finally give up, right? But I think we’ve already established that violence and intimidation doesn’t really work here. It would only make them angrier, more determined. So what we’re going to do instead is show them that the Empire is not all about brute force and primitive, straightforward show of domination.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, we finally start acting like the civilized, advanced country we claim to be,” Manners chimes in. “Show the people how much profit they could gain by cooperating, how much we could teach them, improve their standard of living.”

“And, in Jensen’s case,” Jared adds, “show that behaving well pays off. After all, we’re bringing Jensen back to his homeland so he can provide his counsel and advice. It’s a sensible and merciful gesture, and we believe it is the only way to break the people’s resistance.”

“We have the City’s support on this,” Manners reminds Heyerdahl. “You tried it your way, now let us try it our way.” When Heyerdahl scowls, the General smiles conciliatorily. “Now, Commander. You spent almost six months in this country, and you must have gained much experience over this period. Would you be so kind as to enlighten us? I’m sure we have much to learn from you.”

Appeased a little, Heyerdahl starts talking again.

*

“Look, about what happened back there with Heyerdahl,” Jared starts as soon as he and Jensen are alone, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Jensen watches him intently, hands on his hips, chin up, eyes narrowed. He looks decidedly angry. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

Jensen snorts. “Well, and are you sorry about the countless other enslaved men and women who have to go through that, and worse, every day?”

Gods, not this again. “Jensen…”

“No. Don’t make excuses.”

Jared runs a hand through his hair in frustration; he really doesn’t want to argue. What he wants is to find something to eat, get some sleep, and wash away every trace of Heyerdahl’s touch on Jensen’s body with his own. Not necessarily in that order. Actually, sex is starting to sound really good right now - it’s the most effective way of shutting Jensen up.

“You’re always so cute when you get worked up,” he mutters, changing the subject. He steps up to Jensen, grabbing him by the ass and pressing their bodies together. “Gets me all worked up too.”

It doesn’t work. Jensen turns his head to the side, avoiding Jared’s attempt to kiss, and steps back, putting some space between them again. “Seriously? Now?”

“Yes, now,” Jared insists, opening the front of his pants. “Come on, be nice.”

“So you say you’re sorry for what Heyerdahl did to me and now you want this?” Jensen's eyes are wide, disbelieving.

One hand wrapped around his rapidly hardening cock, Jared puts the other on Jensen’s shoulder, pressing. “It’s not the same."

“You sure about that?” Jensen asks as he drops to his knees.

 

***

 

“Ah, this is killing me.” Jared blinks rapidly, then rubs his eyes. “Your country isn’t that big! How can anyone become invisible here?”

“Magic,” Jensen supplies unhelpfully. He’s standing at the window, forehead leaning against the glass, staring outside at the courtyard.

Fresh air. Jared needs some fresh air. “Would you open the window?”

He feels a little better once the late afternoon air reaches him, refreshing and smelling like rain. He takes several long, deep breaths, stretches his limbs, and returns back to the large map of the Northmost Province spread across the table. “So, according to Heyerdahl’s intel, the resistance fighters operate in all the major cities, including Hengstenfurt, but their main headquarters is somewhere in the mountains. That’s probably where Carlson and Manns are hiding, too.”

He pauses, waiting for Jensen to say something, but Jensen remains silent.

“Those mountains aren’t that inhospitable, so it’s possible to survive there just fine,” he continues thinking out loud. It’s easier like that sometimes. “But they have to stay in contact with their people in the country somehow.”

Still no reaction from Jensen.

“Heyerdahl’s troops are guarding every pass, every path in those mountains, and they already caught sight of the rebels a few times, but whenever they followed them, the rebels got away. How?”

“Guess we’re really good,” Jensen explains, stepping away from the window and yawning, arms outstretched above his head, shirt riding up and revealing one sharp hipbone.

Jared has to look away to get his concentration back. “No one is that good. I mean, they couldn’t just disappear off the face of the earth.” But then he remembers one of Jensen’s lectures, the one about early history of mining in the Ackles kingdom. “Unless… unless that’s exactly what they did.”

“Yeah, right,” Jensen rumbles as he struts over to the serving table stacked with various snacks Jared had ordered earlier. He plucks a strawberry from one bowl, dips it into whipped cream and eats it, then proceeds to lick the juice off his fingers slowly, tongue darting out and curling nimbly around the digits.

“You can stop that,” Jared informs him coldly, but he has to shift in his seat as certain parts of his anatomy take interest in what is happening in front of him anyway. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Hmm?” Jensen’s looking directly at him now, leaning against the serving table, head tilted back slightly so that his neck is exposed. Crotch thrust out, legs splayed invitingly open. “What am I trying to do, then?”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Guilty.” With a provocative grin, Jensen starts walking towards Jared, hips swaying, movements languid. There’s always been a certain seductive quality to the way he moved, but while in the past it was unintentional, now Jensen’s most certainly aware of it, of the power his sexuality gives him, and he’s using it to his best benefit. “I can see it’s working,” he murmurs when he reaches Jared, voice almost a purr, as he crawls into Jared’s lap.

The chair groans under their combined weight, and Jared groans when Jensen’s soft, hot mouth descends on him, licking and nibbling from his collarbone up the column of his throat. Then Jensen’s kissing him aggressively, moaning into his mouth as he grinds into Jared’s hard cock, and there’s no way Jared could resist this. He slides his palms inside Jensen’s pants, kneading the bare flesh of his ass, trying to get Jensen closer.

“Nuh-uh,” Jensen breaks the kiss to shake his head when Jared tries to speed things up. “Patience. Don’t rush it.” His fingers close around Jared’s wrists, taking his hands from where they were trying to open his pants and puts them back on his ass.

Jared whines unhappily, but there’s something really hot about Jensen taking control like this, and when Jensen starts grinding against him again, heavy and purposeful, his hands everywhere and his tongue and teeth ravaging Jared’s mouth, he doesn’t think about protesting anymore.

Fuck, it’s good.

The clothes he’s still wearing are rough on his sensitized skin, and Jensen’s stubble is scratching his cheek, and Jared’s got his teeth on Jensen’s earlobe and his hand down the back of Jensen’s pants again, following the trail of sweat down Jensen’s crack.

Jensen growls and bites Jared’s lip when Jared teases his opening with one fingertip, and Jared’s breath catches in his throat at the way Jensen accepts that fingertip easily, pressing down to take more. And screw patience, he wants to be inside Jensen _now_.

He ends up fucking Jensen over the table, fast and brutal, collapsing on top of him when he’s done, exhausted. His eyelids are drooping and his limbs feel like jelly, and he’s sweaty where their bodies are touching and Jensen’s shoulder blade is digging into his chest, but all in all falling asleep on top of Jensen sounds kind of nice.

“Jared.” Jensen stirs beneath him, elbow poking into Jared’s side. “Get off me or I’ll throw you off.”

Reluctantly, Jared complies, not doubting the seriousness of Jensen’s threat. “Sleep,” he mumbles, dragging Jensen behind him as he stumbles into the bedroom and into the large four-poster bed there. Jensen joins him, throwing a light blanket over them both.

“Hey,” Jared slurs, sleep tugging at the corners of his mind enticingly, and he’s ready to succumb to its call, there’s just one thing he has to make clear first. “What you did, dist… distracting me… ‘s not gonna work f’rever.”

“Yeah.” There’s a heavy sigh from Jensen, the exhale pleasantly cool on Jared’s heated skin. “Yeah, I know.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Three days and three nights into his stay in Hengstenfurt, and Jensen still hasn’t gotten used to the mornings; he doesn’t think he ever will. In yet another cruel twist of fate that shouldn’t even come as a surprise anymore, Jared’s been accommodated in Jensen’s old rooms in the royal palace, so the first thing Jensen sees when he opens his eyes in the morning is the midnight blue canopy of his four-poster bed.

His own goddamn bed. Only now it belongs to Jared, who acts as if it’s extremely generous of him that he’s willing to share. As if it weren’t a sacrilege of the worst kind for him to be invading this place that holds so many memories, memories of a life Jensen will never get back.

Age four and Jensen is inhaling the lavender of his mother’s perfume as she leans over to kiss him goodnight, her palm soft and reassuring on his cheek as she smiles and whispers, “Sweet dreams, baby boy.”

Age six and Jensen is listening to Josh’s scary stories with bated breath. Although Josh pokes fun at him when he gets scared, he stays to chase away the monsters under the bed because he might be a jerk sometimes, but he’s also the best big brother ever.

Age twelve and Jensen is staying up way too late to finish the adventurous book his father gave him, devouring the pages with wide eyes, heart beating loud in his chest with excitement.

Age fifteen and Jensen is lounging on the bed with Steve and Jason, sharing a bottle of weird-tasting southern wine they snitched from the cellars, giggling at bawdy jokes and talking big about girls and swords and fight moves.

Age twenty-one and Jensen is chuckling as Danneel weakly bats his wandering hands away with a mumbled “Lemme sleep.” She changes her mind soon though, letting out a quiet, content sigh when Jensen slides inside her, her fingers on his back and her lips locked with his as they make love until the smell of sex is heavy in the air.

The smell of sex is in the air now too, only it’s sharper, muskier, clinging to Jensen like a stain that can’t be washed off, like the itchy stickiness of come between his thighs and more of it on his stomach because Jared knows Jensen’s hot spots just as well as Jensen knows Jared’s.

It feels like a betrayal of Jensen’s people to be sharing a bed with Jared, and a betrayal of Danneel to be sharing _this_ bed, and the guilt is like a large stone crushing Jensen into the ground, making it nearly impossible to take a breath in, let alone to get up. It would be so easy to just stay here and wait until Jared comes back from whatever meeting he’s attending. So tempting to simply stop caring. So liberating.

But that’s not why Jensen is here.

Sure, there’s not much he can do, locked up and under constant watch of the soldiers from Jared’s unit. But staying down would mean admitting defeat, so Jensen has to get up, even if he’ll spend the day doing something as useless as pacing across the room until he wears down the carpet. It’s the principle of the thing.

He winces in discomfort as he sits up, the fast movement reminding his body of Jared’s enthusiasm last night. Jared tends to get rough whenever he gets too frustrated with something, and evidently nothing is as frustrating as Heyerdahl’s company.

Jensen’s only been to two of the meetings. The second one went in similar vein to the first, even though Heyerdahl didn’t go as far with the harassment as before, mainly thanks to General Manners’ insistence that Jensen’s skills of a pleasure slave are of little importance in regards to anything on the day’s agenda. But Jensen could feel the Commander’s eyes on him the entire time, could tell whenever Heyerdahl’s look got particularly lecherous from the painful way Jared’s fingers would dig into his shoulder.

After that, Jared declared that Misha would accompany him to the meetings in Jensen’s place for now.

The first time Misha went, Jensen spent hours biting his nails and fearing for the other slave, but when Misha assured him later that Heyerdahl had showed no interest in him whatsoever, apparently deeming him no more remarkable than a piece of furniture, Jensen allowed himself to relax and be glad for the reprieve.

It’s bad that he doesn’t get to be in the middle of things like he’d hoped and has to depend solely on whatever information Jared’s willing to give him, but at least he won’t have to face Heyerdahl again.

Just the thought of Heyerdahl makes his skin crawl, makes him want to scrub himself until he bleeds. No one’s ever made him feel as dirty, as dehumanized, as that man, and nothing’s ever scared him more than those two wrecks at Heyerdahl’s feet. Than the certainty that if Heyerdahl had been the one who bought him, sooner or later Jensen would’ve ended up just like them.

He would never admit it out loud, but he’s seen and heard enough to appreciate how lucky he is that he’s Jared’s and not anyone else’s.

 _Fuck_. No. He isn’t Jared’s either!

 

***

 

“That’s too much. No wonder they’re rioting.”

“Is it?” Jared doesn’t look mistrustful, just curious, head tilted to the side as he regards Jensen attentively. “This is the standard taxation in the Empire.”

“But you can’t compare this to the Empire,” Jensen steps closer to the table to inspect the numbers Jared’s currently going over. He can’t believe this issue hasn’t already been brought up and discussed long ago; it’s nothing but dilettantism on Heyerdahl’s part. “Your climate is much more suitable for grain production; you’ve got longer summers, milder winters, your soil’s more fertile. Your people can afford to pay that much, my people can’t.”

“Your people,” Jared repeats.

“Yes, my people. The crop yield in most parts of the Kingdom is 1:4, 1:5 at best, which means more grain has to be left for planting next season.” He can’t resist adding, “Guess we’re not as profitable as you thought we’d be. Are you sure we were worth the effort?”

“Oh, you were,” Jared’s voice drops to a lower, more intimate register as his hand curls around Jensen’s hip, tugging until Jensen follows and ends up in Jared’s lap. “Worth every effort,” he whispers, aiming for a kiss.

“Stop that,” Jensen turns his head away and taps his fingers against the open folder. “This is important. You have to talk to Manners, tell him to lower the taxes if he doesn’t want the populace to starve.”

A sigh. “Fine. So how much is tolerable?”

“After the war? I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I’m not a walking encyclopedia, you know. We had advisors for this kind of thing.” He pauses, taking in Jared’s smug little smirk. “You’re not a fool for needing advice; you’re only a fool for needing it and being too proud to ask.”

“Wise words.”                                                         

“My father’s.”

Jared’s eyes narrow slightly. “Your father was a wise man,” he says eventually, then slaps Jensen’s ass. “Now let me get up. I’ll go find someone who knows more about crops than we do.”

 

***

 

_Dear Jensen,_

_It’s so good to finally hear from you, I was starting to think that something bad happened. The courier said the roads were too muddy and he couldn’t ride at full speed. Does that mean the rain season in the Kingdom started early this fall? It’s funny, all I ever did was complain about the rain, but now I miss it so much._

Jensen throws a quick glance to his right where raindrops are indeed drumming against the window panes.

_I still haven’t grown accustomed to living here without you, and though I do my best not to look it, everyone around me can tell somehow, and they’re doing everything in their power to help me. I honestly hadn’t realized what great friends they all are – even Ty with his idiotic… well, everything._

_Actually, they were so concerned with my well-being that they decided I need a roommate to cheer me up so I don’t just ‘sit alone in silence and brood’, as Alona put it – aptly, I must admit. They talked to the slave keeper and now Katherine is living with me. I can tell you this: there’s definitely no more silence. I know things about Katherine’s sex life I never wanted to; the woman has no conception of boundaries. Oh, and she likes to talk about Jared too, in exhaustive detail. I think she still hasn’t forgiven you for ‘stealing’ him from her._

Groaning, Jensen puts the letter down and hides his blushing face in his hands. Katherine can get very descriptive when talking about her work, which means Mackenzie now knows what Jared’s favorite position is (doggy style when he needs to let off some steam and on his back with his partner riding him when he wants to enjoy the view), whether he’s a shower or a grower (he’s actually both), what makes him go crazy (sucking his balls, kitten licks along the shells of his ears, showing how much you love his cock inside you), or what kinds of sounds does he make when he comes (loud grunts or full-blown shouts, depending on how much self-control he’s got left).

Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Jensen picks up the letter again. Mackenzie writes about Samantha’s sick father, about Alona’s crush on one of the cooks, about Misha’s kids, and about Chad’s increasingly frequent visits – he’s leaving the City soon with his troops and wants to enjoy Mackenzie’s presence as much as he can in the remaining time. There’s not much about Mackenzie herself, which means she’s still not doing that well and is trying to hide it, but there’s definitely some progress – in the previous few letters she didn’t talk about herself at all.

_I have to go now; I don’t have much free time lately, too much work. Everyone in the City talks about it: Kripke’s new war campaign against ======== is starting in == days, and every aristocratic household is supposed to provide a certain amount of flags to be waved when the troops set out ceremonially. So it begins again... I pray that this is the beginning of the end. The end of the Empire, that is._

_Take care of yourself, Jensen. Remember who you are, and remember that I love you._

_Mackenzie_

_P. S.: Yes, I’m eating well. And yes, even the beef. Are you eating your vegetables? Someone should see to it that you do. Jared, would you be so kind?_

“Oh, Kenzie,” Jensen mutters, shaking his head in amusement at Mackenzie’s newest jab intended to show her awareness of just how private their correspondence actually is. Hundreds of miles away, and his sister never fails to make him smile.

*

The thing is, reading letters is much easier than writing them. Jensen’s always known that, always struggled with putting words on paper. Hell, he’s never been that good with words in the first place, being much more comfortable with expressing himself through actions; but over the years, he’s learned to get around it. Most of the credit for that goes to Danneel, who complained and complained about Jensen’s significantly lacking art of correspondence whenever they were apart until he learned to be more eloquent.

But now every time he picks up the quill, he realizes he has nothing to say, especially since every letter has to be checked and approved by Jared, so it’s not like Jensen could boast about his successes in aiding the resistance movement and undermining the Empire’s influence in the Kingdom.

That is, if he had anything to boast about.

He’d known it would be next to impossible to contribute to the resistance, to slow the occupants down, to throw them off the scent of those who still fight. Jared is far too clever to let Jensen pull wool over his eyes, and what’s worse, he’s not overconfident or lost in his own world like Heyerdahl seems to be. He looks at the situation around him and sees it for what it really is, not for what he wants it to be.

And then there’s Manners, without whose consent Jared never makes a decision. Manners, who rarely talks but always watches, always sees, always somehow _knows_.

Which is why Jensen’s only accomplished so little so far. A few suggestions, nudges in the right direction. Settling disputes that turn out to be mere cultural misunderstandings. A false lead or misleading information dropped here and there. Begging, pleading and reasoning until a death sentence is reduced to a life sentence, a life sentence to a public whipping.

Jensen’s bargaining and making compromises, and once Manners assumes office and Heyerdahl leaves the country, once Jensen becomes more involved, it’s going to get even uglier. Because this isn’t a fairytale in which everything’s black or white, yes or no, good or bad. In which the hero saves the princess and the kingdom without having to choose the lesser of two evils, and comes out of the fight smelling of roses. That’s not how life works, oh no. Dirty hands and a conscience burdened by shady decisions, that’s what’s waiting for Jensen if he wants to help his country in any way.

Of course, Mackenzie doesn’t have to know any of this. She’s got enough on her plate as it is.

Jensen dips the quill into the ink. The tip of the quill scratches against the paper.

He writes mostly about the weather.

 

***

 

Jared tosses the folder on the table. “This is disgusting.”

“May I?” When Jared doesn’t object, Jensen picks up the papers to take a look. By the time he’s skimmed through the documents, he feels sick. “This has to stop.” So many arrests, and that’s just the numbers for this week. Heyerdahl certainly hasn’t slackened his efforts, more like the opposite – as if he’s trying to inflict as much pain and misery as he can before he’s removed from office.

“It will stop.” Jared says determinedly. “There’s not much use for confessions extracted under torture, or for any information obtained that way, for that matter. More often than not, it doesn’t get us any closer to the truth.” He snorts disdainfully. “But truth’s not what Heyerdahl is after. He just wants to watch them suffer.”

“How did he even become governor? I can hardly imagine anyone less suitable for the job.”

Heyerdahl’s popularity is a sore point with Jared, often making him so resentful that he drops his guard and talks freely, which is something that might be useful in the future. For now, Jensen nods and listens with unfeigned interest as Jared sourly explains how when Kripke’s father passed away and Kripke assumed the throne, one of his first actions as the new Emperor was to promote Heyerdahl, his childhood friend who shared his passion for blood and violence.

“What he’s doing here is ridiculous, not to mention counterproductive.” Jared’s voice is rising steadily as his anger grows. “Prisons are bursting at the seams, but finding real resistance fighters among the poor arrested bastards is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Heyerdahl doesn’t even differentiate between reasonable suspicion and denunciations from snitches, for gods’ sake!”

Jensen's first impulse is to protest that there are no snitches among his people, but luckily he doesn’t embarrass himself by actually saying so out loud. Of course there are snitches here, it’s not like the Kingdom is a country full of saints.

“Everyone knows the only reliable thing about denunciations is that they’re unreliable,” Jared grumbles, arms crossed over his chest, forehead creased as he frowns at his boots. “Most of them stem from envy or jealousy, neighbors telling on neighbors who have more crops or more cattle or a prettier wife.” He shakes his head in disgust. “Greed drives people to do all kinds of things.”

“Says the citizen of a country that lives off expansion and conquest.” It’s outrageous; the way Jared is quick to judge others while acting like his own character is unimpeachable.

Jared fixes his eyes on Jensen. “Touché,” he says after several beats of tense silence.

“Also, incidentally, doesn’t greed play a major role in your plan to pacify my people too?” Jensen’s playing with fire now, but he can’t help it. “Rewards for playing nice, for cooperating with the Imperial authorities, for selling out resistance fighters?”

“Well, yes,” Jared agrees and pushes his chair back, standing up abruptly. He starts pacing across Jensen’s former study, restless energy coming out of every pore. “But also punishments for false accusations. I want order, lawful order. Not Heyerdahl’s chaos and constant change of laws and regulations that only aim to trick the citizens into doing something illegal so he can arrest them, confiscate their property and take their families as slaves. The Empire’s rule in the Northmost Province will be legitimate.”

“Legal,” Jensen corrects him as he stands up too, sensing that some kind of confrontation is coming. “Not legitimate. There’s a difference. Your rule here will never be legitimate as long as the people are opposed to it, no matter how law-abiding you’ll be.”

Jared stops his pacing to give Jensen an intent look, head inclined to the side, hands on his hips. “You’ll just never quit, huh?”

“Sure I will. Once my people are free and there’s not one Imperial soldier in the Kingdom.”

“An ambitious dream.”

“Not a dream.”

Jared doesn’t say anything, just stares at Jensen, who stares right back. Challenging one another. Neither of them willing to back down or look away.

Then Jared exhales, slow and easy, and his serious face breaks into a predatory grin.

Jensen knows that grin and what usually follows it, so he’s prepared for the two hundred plus pounds of hard flesh and muscle when Jared rams into him, and doesn’t topple over. They stumble back in a more or less controlled fashion, crashing into various pieces of furniture until Jensen’s back hits a wall and Jared’s kissing him deep and messy.

It resembles a fight more than anything else, and Jensen knows only one way how to respond to that.

He pushes back, using the moment of surprise to create some space between them and then drives into Jared, and they’re stumbling across the room again, only now in the opposite direction. When Jared trips over something they both go down. The fall doesn’t slow them at all and the grapple continues, grunts and sharp elbows, knees and forearms, curses and hard erections, teeth and lips and way too many clothes between them.

“That’s better,” Jared says approvingly once their clothes are strewn across the floor and they’re touching, skin on skin. “Bed?”

“Floor’s fine,” Jensen counters.  Jared’s in the mood, so sex is unavoidable, but there’s no way Jensen’s doing it in that bed – _his_ bed, damn it! – unless he absolutely has to. “Or are you afraid of a little rug burn?”

Not one to turn down a challenge, Jared shakes his head, hair flying around his face, and tackles Jensen. They are on the floor again, rolling and wrestling for control until Jared manages to gain the upper hand, using his full weight to immobilize Jensen. “Gotcha,” he rumbles and dives down for another sharp-toothed kiss.

Jensen goes slack under the assault, letting Jared plunder his mouth and grind against him for a moment before retaliating by biting hard on Jared’s lip and bucking up when Jared draws back in surprise. Jared’s hold on him eases and Jensen wrenches himself free and then he’s moving again, fast and sure until he’s the one on top, straddling Jared’s waist, hands firmly locked around his wrists.

Jared doesn’t seem to particularly mind the change of positions though, if his lazy smile is anything to go by. He rolls his hips slowly, the hot length of his cock conveniently sliding into the cleft of Jensen’s ass. “Always a fighter,” he comments happily, and his smile widens when he adds, “Just don’t forget it doesn’t really matter who’s on top. I’m gonna have you either way. I can have you any way I want.”

The words rip through what Jensen likes to call ‘the body mode’ – no names, no identities, no guilt, just two bodies doing what feels good – and just like every time it happens, he is shaken to the core by the harsh truth he normally pushes away in the interest of self-preservation.

Taking advantage of Jensen’s momentary loss of focus, Jared easily flips them over once more. “Right now, I think I want you on your back.” He’s still smiling, clearly unaware of the impact his casual demonstration of dominance had on Jensen, and Jensen’s grateful for that, thanks the gods for small mercies, and closes his eyes, hoping to get swept under by the current of physical sensations again.

Despite – or maybe because of – his best efforts, it’s not easy at first and for a while Jensen has to fake it, shivering with revulsion instead of arousal when Jared plants kisses across his neck and licks and teases his nipples, and if it weren’t for the hands holding him down, he’d be trying to squirm away from the invasive touch.

But Jared knows what he’s doing, so Jensen’s back to fully hard by the time slick fingers slip inside him and Jared’s lips close around his cock, nimble tongue pressing at the underside. Jensen gasps and his hips buck up involuntarily, trying to get deeper into the wet heat of Jared’s mouth. Jared chuckles and sucks harder, the fingers inside Jensen working faster, and Jensen lets the world around him fall away.

Suddenly Jared pulls off, kneeling up, big palms on Jensen’s inner thighs, pushing his legs open and up to Jensen’s chest and settling between them, slotting his mouth over Jensen’s as he enters him in one long, smooth thrust. He stills then, swallowing the little whimpers Jensen’s making, giving him a few seconds to adjust.

“Okay?” He asks, lips moving over Jensen’s.

“Yeah,” Jensen rasps, voice a little strained because no matter how many times they’ve done this, there’s always the initial reaction of _too big, too full_ , _too much_ , and braces himself for more. “Okay.”

And just like that, Jared goes from mostly civil and considerate to completely animalistic and savage, all the energy he had to contain all day unleashed at once like an explosion. Pillars of muscled arms on either side of Jensen’s head, fat drops of sweat hitting Jensen’s chest, lips drawn back in a feral snarl as he fucks into Jensen again and again with no regard for anything but his own release.

When Jensen sneaks one hand between their bodies to touch himself, Jared immediately bats it away. “That’s mine,” he warns.

“Mine to take care of,” he specifies not much later as he lets his softening cock slip out of Jensen. He scoots back, settling on his knees between Jensen’s legs. “Mine to watch.” His gaze never leaves Jensen’s face as he starts to jack Jensen with one hand while the fingers of the other push back into him. He unerringly finds Jensen’s prostate at the first go and starts to rub, his earlier single-minded hunger gone and replaced by something more tender but no less intense, and he continues to stare with rapt fascination as he brings Jensen closer and closer to the brink.

As the pleasure builds inside him, Jensen’s eyes fall closed, but when he comes he sees Jared’s face anyway; it’s automatic now, a conditioned response instilled into him from the moment he accepted the fact that his sexuality isn’t his own anymore.

“That was relaxing,” Jared says, settling on the carpet next to Jensen.

Jensen doesn’t reply, just lets out a long, shuddering breath. There’s a deep, throbbing ache in his ass and the skin on his back feels like it’s on fire, chafed raw. He’s still trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“This is exactly what I needed after a long, frustratingly boring day,” Jared keeps on talking, his tone friendly, light. “I was originally gonna suggest a quick jog or something, but this is so much better. Right?” He turns his head to give Jensen a smile, the one with bright eyes and dimples and white teeth, the one that sometimes almost makes Jensen forget what exactly it is between them.

Almost.

 

***

 

The door opens and closes but Jensen doesn’t move from where he’s standing next to the window overlooking the inner courtyard, doesn’t turn around to see who the person coming in is. He could tell Jared’s gait apart from anyone else’s.

In fact, he’s gotten so good at reading the man’s moods that he picks up on Jared’s unusual aloofness just from the quality of silence that settles in the room.

“So you heard.” Jared doesn’t specify as to what he’s talking about; he doesn’t have to.

“Yes, I heard.”

Footsteps; one, two, three. “I thought Misha would know better than to babble out everything that happens at meetings behind closed doors.”

The smile that’s taken up residence on Jensen’s lips once he pried the news out of Misha this afternoon between small talk slips away as it dawns on Jensen that he might have gotten the other slave into serious trouble. It hasn’t even occurred to him before. “He didn’t mean to,” he tries lamely, cursing himself for using Misha’s susceptibility for his own purposes. He turns around to look Jared in the face. “I tricked him into it, so if you want to punish someone, it should be me.”

“Ever the self-sacrificing hero.” Jared chuckles darkly. “Don’t worry though; Misha rectified his mistake by confessing to it as soon as he realized it. Besides, I was going to tell you anyway. So, how much do you know?”

“Just what Misha told me – that an Imperial spy has spotted Jason Manns in Ahtoburgen. Reportedly he’s been making contact with members of the Ahtoburgen high council.” He pauses. “Is it true?”

“Another source just confirmed it.” Jared’s watching Jensen closely, standing in the middle of the room with his hands crossed over his chest. Unreadable. “It doesn’t really change anything, you know.”

Except it actually might. Ahtoburgen – the confederation of eight free merchant cities in the northern coast – have the strongest navy on the continent and more importantly, they control the long-distance trade, both onshore and seaborne. Though they rarely interfere in matters that don’t concern them directly, they definitely are a force to be reckoned with; even the Empire would think twice before picking a quarrel with them. And if somebody can manage to sway Ahtoburgen in the Kingdom’s favor, it’s Jason, the most skilled diplomat Jensen’s ever seen.

Jared seems to be following the same train of thought. “They aren’t going to start a war because of your country. They haven’t before.”

He does have a point there. After all, Ahtoburgen sat by and did nothing when the forces of the Empire invaded the Ackles kingdom, despite the treaty of alliance with Jensen’s father. On their own accord, Jensen’s eyes shift downwards, to the courtyard where eight months ago he stood next to his father and watched the mud streaked messenger slide from his horse and collapse on the cobbled pavement half dead with fatigue, voice cracking as he reported that the Kingdom would have to stand alone because none of the neighbors are willing to take the risks necessary to stand up to the aggressor.

But things have changed since then.

“Not just because of us, no,” Jensen agrees, bitterness on his tongue. “They did nothing then because they were hoping Kripke would content himself with taking the Kingdom and leave the rest of the countries alone. They threw us to the lions.”

“Yes, you were the sacrificial lamb.” There’s no compassion in Jared’s voice, but no mockery either. If he has any opinion on what Jensen can’t help perceive as unforgivable betrayal, he keeps it to himself.

“But it wasn’t enough. And Ahtoburgen – and the others, too – they _will_ have to fight if the Empire keeps up the expansion policy.” Jensen remembers Mackenzie mentioning Chad’s upcoming campaign in her latest letter. “Kripke is too greedy, too reckless; he’s doing this too fast. He plans to take over the whole continent, one country at a time, and sooner or later he’s going to get his fingers burned.”

“You know what? I think you might be right,” Jared concedes, and moves to Jensen in several long steps, his front now to Jensen’s back, chin coming to rest on Jensen’s shoulder, arms around Jensen’s waist. Not too tight or oppressive; just there, holding Jensen trapped between the window and Jared’s body. “Kripke doesn’t always listen to reason, and there’s a fair chance one day he’s going to bite off more than he can chew. But I say it doesn’t matter, not to you, not to your country. Because by then, you’ll have been long chewed and swallowed by the Empire. You’re already ours; you just don’t know it yet.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Still no mockery. Mild amusement at best, which is worse, somehow. “Don’t be so sure. Just look,” Jared taps the window pane, pointing his finger at the courtyard and the people there. “They seem that unhappy to you?”

Truth be told, they really don’t.

There’s a group of cooks standing in a circle, enjoying their afternoon break and laughing at something Jensen can’t hear. An old sweeper that Jensen knows from childhood is cleaning horse droppings off the pavement, lips pursed as he whistles a tune. A kitchen maid is throwing amorous glances at the stable boy who hurries to help her with a bucket of water, blushing when he returns her smile.

Jensen has to admit this isn’t how he envisioned the situation in the Kingdom when he was still in the City. Whenever his thoughts carried him home, he imagined every scene in bleak, somber colors, with everyone gravely quiet. Grief-stricken faces and heads bowed down under the weight of forced subjugation, joyless conversations in hushed tones, no light.

And he _has_ seen all of that on his journey through the country, but somewhere along the way he realized how immensely grateful he is that that’s not _all_ he’s seen. Because no light means no life, and no life means no hope.

The laughter, the smiles, the songs and jokes, the kids running around and playing, the girls and boys dancing around campfires, that’s life, that’s survival, that’s the strength human beings need in order to remain human. It’s what kept Jensen and Mackenzie sane and in fighting spirit, and it’s what will help the Ackles people last out these hard times and come out victorious in the end.

“You’re wrong,” Jensen repeats, louder this time.

“I admire your faith.” Jared presses his body more firmly against Jensen, as if trying to counter the distance between their opinions with physical proximity. “But we’re both realists. You have to admit you’re only lying to yourself. It’s time to stop dreaming and accept the truth. There’s only so long you can keep resisting, and once you stop, you’ll be ours.”

Jensen doesn’t attempt to free himself of Jared’s increasingly suffocating hold, but he shakes his head. “No.”

The sharp huff of breath Jared lets out is slightly agitated now. “Why do you do this? Would it really be that bad for you to surrender, for your country to surrender? Manners is a just, reasonable man, and you can’t honestly claim I’m a monster like Heyerdahl either, not after all the mercy I’ve shown you and your sister. We’ll take good care of your people.” He rolls his hips as he speaks, slow, lazy, intimate. “Just like I take good take care of you.

“We don’t need to be taken care of!” Jensen replies automatically, a familiar edge of indignant fury creeping into his tone. He pushes it down, not trusting himself around Jared when his emotions are high. “We were fine before you came, we’ll be even better once you’re gone.”

“But we’re not going anywhere, boy.” The hated word is accompanied by another roll of Jared’s hips, the press of his cock against Jensen’s ass unmistakable now. “We’re staying here to make sure everyone learns to bend the knee.” His thumb brushes Jensen’s lips, the blunt tip slipping inside. “Just like you learned. Quite spectacularly, I might add.”

It’s a provocation that Jensen doesn’t respond to, biting back angry retorts, pocketing his pride for now. Jared’s innuendo stings because Jared’s not lying – Jensen did learn to go down to his knees, and he did learn to spread his legs for Jared. He did what he had to, and he survived.

 _Bend, but not break_ , that’s the key to getting through this. Bow your head when told to, then draw yourself up again, live to fight another day.

The problem is that when you bend something repeatedly, ultimately it will break. Given enough time, everything will break.

This is going to be a battle against time, the Empire’s superior power against the Kingdom’s resolve to hold on until something changes, until they get a fighting chance.

“You can’t win,” Jared says, not a hint of doubt in his voice. “Even if Ahtoburgen or anyone else decides to step in, it will be too late for you.”

“We’ll see,” Jensen replies just as firmly. “We’ll see.”

 

***

 

_Dear Jensen,_

_I want to express my endless gratitude for your last letter. It was such an utterly fascinating read that I couldn’t even tear my eyes off the pages. I don’t think anyone’s ever been informed about anything in such depth and detail as I have been informed about the weather in the Kingdom. My beloved brother, it seems like you entirely missed your true calling – I swear, you should have became a weather forecaster._

_Now if you managed just a fraction of that informativeness and articulateness when it comes to other topics, for example yourself, it would make me indescribably happy. I know expressing yourself in words has always been a daring feat for you and the fact that Padalecki gets to read every word isn’t making it any better, and I know I haven’t been exactly talkative either lately, but you have to admit there’s an upward tendency in my letters. In yours, not so much._

_I’ve tried to be patient and give you time, but now I guess I’m too worried to be patient. Look, you don’t have to pour out your heart, you don’t have to confide in me with every little thing that troubles you – gods know you never did. But Jensen, please, talk to me, let me know that you’re still there, that it’s still you. I’ll sleep better at night. And you want me to sleep well, don’t you, big brother? Yes, as you can see, I’m not above using emotional blackmail. And as long as it works, I don’t give a damn._

_I understand that this is so much easier for me than it is for you, because I have my friends with me, while you must probably get horribly lonely back home. But you’re not alone. You have me, and you have other people who care about you, who trust you, who pin their hopes on you. Probably more of them than you realize. You’re not alone. Please remember that. (I apologize if that was a bit sentimental, but it’s the truth. And you shaking your head and thinking ‘she’s not right at all’ doesn’t change a thing about that. So you better come to terms with it.)_

_I have to go now, or I’ll miss dinner and Chris will throw a fit. He’s taking this protective step-brother mission you’ve given him very seriously._

_Take care of yourself, and remember who you are._

_Love,_

_Mackenzie_

Jensen puts the letter down with slightly trembling hands, blinking away the tears caught in his lashes. He takes a deep breath, holds it for several beats, releases it shakily.

He and Mackenzie are a team, sticking together in a world turned upside down, keeping each other’s heads above water. The hundreds of miles between them are an unpleasant complication, but they shouldn’t – _won’t_ – be enough to break their bond, sever the lifeline, unless one of them lets go. And Jensen’s grip just got a hell lot stronger.

He doesn’t start with his reply right away though; he sits there for a long while, carefully weighing his words, trying to find the right balance between personal enough for Mackenzie and impersonal enough not to reveal too much to Jared who’s going to read every single line.

Not satisfied with his first two attempts, Jensen’s just about to crumple the third one – still too revealing – when it hits him, what he’s doing. He’s letting Jared dictate his life again, making concessions again, without even meaning to. He was already made a stranger in his own home, and now he’s allowing Jared to make him a stranger to the only family he’s got left. What’s next, a stranger in his own mind? That’s just one step from having no mind of his own at all.

No way. No way Jensen’s going to let that happen.

And so he starts writing, throwing his thoughts on paper in a disorganized heap of feelings and hopes and memories and doubts, random old stories, bits and pieces of life in the Kingdom as it is now, stray observations and little anecdotes, anything and everything that crosses his mind.

And if the letter shows Jared pieces of Jensen that he’s managed to keep secret from him so far, then be it. It’s better than losing those pieces altogether.

*

That night, Jensen sits still and tense as he watches Jared go over what he wrote, waiting for the ridicule to come.

But it never does.

“I’m sure this will put your sister’s mind at ease,” is all Jared says as he seals the envelope.

 

***

 

The first time it happens, Jensen thinks nothing of it. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, passing the time by reading a historical novel he found in his considerably reduced library, when he hears a familiar melody coming from the adjoining room where an elderly cleaning lady is scrubbing the floor under the watchful gaze of one of Jared’s men.

Jensen hasn’t heard that song since long before the war. It’s not particularly refined or polished, but that’s to be expected – after all, Jason and Steve and Jensen composed it during a late night, somewhat inebriated strumming session when they were what, sixteen, seventeen? The song, titled _Stand Together_ , is mostly about things they knew nothing about at the time – hardships and the fickleness of fate and the power of friendship – but for some reason it became fairly popular.

The cleaning lady is humming the energetic, upbeat chorus under her breath now, moving her brush across the floor to the beat, and Jensen’s throat constricts painfully under the onslaught of sweet memories turned bitter.

It happens again the next day, with a different cleaning lady guarded by a different guard. Then with the stable boy who waits for Jared and Jensen when they return from a late afternoon ride, leaning against the wall, hands stuck down his pockets. _When you feel all alone, We’ll help you carry on, Standing together we’ll take you home_ , those are the words to the melody the boy is whistling, and in a brief moment when Jared’s looking elsewhere, the boy gives Jensen a conspiratorial wink.

The next time Jensen hears the song – from a maidservant who comes to change the sheets – he hums along with her. She doesn’t risk glancing at him, not with the guard standing in the room, but there’s a faint smile on her face as she gathers the dirty sheets and leaves.

“Catchy tune,” the guard mutters ten minutes later with a scowl. “Can’t get it out of my head.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees, hiding a smirk behind his book. “Me neither.”

 

***

 

In the morning on the seventh day, Jensen wakes up so early that the rest of the palace is still asleep, no sounds coming from the courtyard, no sunlight pouring through the small slit in the drawn curtains. Everything is quiet and calm, but it’s the silence before the storm, oppressive and merciless in the inevitability of what’s to come.

Beside him, Jared stirs, blinking several times to clear his vision. Moving the arm he’d slung over Jensen sometime during the night to rest his palm over Jensen’s wildly beating heart, he asks, “Nervous?”

“So are you,” Jensen points out, touching Jared’s chest to feel the fast, irregular thump-thump under his hand. “This is a big day for both of us.”

“Yeah.” Jared sits up, running his fingers through his unruly hair in an ineffectual attempt to tame it. He looks so young like this, deceptively childlike and innocent. “Yeah, it is.”

Jensen fixes his stare on the canopy above him and concentrates on getting his breathing under control, on pulling himself together, but the sharp talons of fear shredding his insides make it extremely difficult. He hasn’t felt this bad since… well, if he’s honest with himself, he’s felt this bad a lot lately. What an encouraging thought.

“Hey, Jensen… Did you mean it, what you said the other day?”

“Mean what?”

“Do you really think you have any chance of victory?” Jared’s expression is open, unguarded.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Jensen confesses. “But I’ll do everything for it.”

“I know. And I’ll do everything against it.”

“I know.”

*

The bell strikes noon, and Jensen lifts his eyes towards the sun overhead. It’s bravely doing what it can, but the sunrays don’t have much warmth left in them anymore.

At least it’s not raining.

The drone of thousands of voices on the main square quiets gradually, until finally there’s perfect silence. On the elevated platform decorated with Imperial flags and banners, Commander Heyerdahl starts to deliver his speech in which he says goodbye to the Kingdom and officially introduces the new governor, General Manners.

Jensen doesn’t listen, doesn’t care to hear anything the man has to say.

Manners is next speaker in line. He speaks well, coming across as both respectful and authoritative, but not offensive; his words chosen thoughtfully and deliberately in such a way that makes it hard to find anything to disagree with. He’s good, good and very dangerous, and under different circumstances Jensen would be paying more attention. But as it is, he’s finding it increasingly difficult to hear what Manners is saying. In fact, it’s getting increasingly difficult just to breathe.

“Jensen,” Jared’s voice cuts through his growing panic, low and gentle. “It’s almost time. You need to get ready.”

Jensen nods wordlessly and steps out of his shoes, bare feet on the pavement. A shiver runs through him, not just from the cold, and it only gets worse when he slips out of the long, heavy robe, now completely naked in the chilly autumn air.

“Here, let me take this,” Jared takes the robe and immediately hands it over to Misha. He’s dressed in full festive armor, all leather and polished brass and jewels, hair blowing in the wind. “I’m really sorry about this.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably before taking the set of golden shackles from a soldier standing by and locking them around Jensen’s wrists, making sure the fit is as loose and comfortable as possible. “We tried to talk him out of this, but… I’m sorry.”

Strangely enough, Jensen believes him, but the words get stuck in his throat, so he just nods again. Sure, his reason for not liking this scenario probably differs from Jared’s – parading the Kingdom’s former royalty in nothing but a set of golden chains and a leash around his neck will probably trample on the _showing the friendly, civilized face of the Empire_ strategy that Jared and Manners are planning – but Heyerdahl wouldn’t budge on this, so here they are.

On the platform, Manners finishes his speech, and then Heyerdahl’s strong voice invites the people gathered at the square to “behold what has become of the man who once presumed to rule you all.”

“Jensen,” Jared’s large, warm hand rests on the small of Jensen’s back, giving him a slight shove. “Let’s go.”

There’s a tug on the leash around his neck and Jensen follows Jared towards the platform, ascending the few steps. Head down, staring at his feet as they make one step after another, gathering the courage to look at the men and women in the crowd.

He knows what to expect – he’s already seen it in the faces of those who have met him in the palace. A few will gloat, those who benefit from the royal house’s misfortune. Some will be indifferent, because after all, a ruler is a ruler. Most of them will avert their eyes, too uncomfortable to see Jensen like this. And some will meet his gaze, look up at him with trust and hope.

They all used to be his people, his responsibility. And no matter what Kripke or Heyerdahl or Jared or anyone else says, Jensen still considers them his people, and he’s going to fight for them.

Keeping his spine straight, he squares his shoulders and raises his head.

This is not the end.


End file.
